


Parent-Teacher Conference

by slytherinski



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: (he just doesn't know it yet), (in like one chapter), Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Banter, Domestic Fluff, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Eventual Smut, Family Feels, Father-Daughter Relationship, Flirting, Good Parents Maggie & Wentworth Tozier, M/M, Mutual Pining, Parent Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Romantic Comedy, Single Parents, Slow Burn, Sonia Kaspbrak Being Terrible, Teacher Eddie Kaspbrak, Unresolved Sexual Tension, bev is richie's assistant, mainly richie/eddie but some background LC, mention of past drug/alcohol abuse, richie's the cool dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:02:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 75,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23569522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherinski/pseuds/slytherinski
Summary: Eddie loves his job, he really does. Even with all the shit a group of twenty-six ten year-olds can throw at him, he still loves what he does. Really, the parents are far worse than the kids, too many of them fitting the stereotypical mold of what an obnoxious LA parent is. He rarely interacts with them face-to-face, most discussion passing through the middlemen of their nannies and drivers, or via incessant emails about their uniquely-named child’s dietary restrictions. His actual students aren’t even the cause for at least half of the issues that plague him as a teacher at a private Los Angeles elementary school. Most of them are well-mannered, capable, socially aware kids, if not a little spoiled thanks to their environment.But then there’s Little Miss Peggy Tozier.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 276
Kudos: 886





	1. wait a second, man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First time writing Reddie after being obsessed w/ them for months. Forgive me if I'm still figuring them out.
> 
> Chapter titles are lyrics from Hot for Teacher by Van Halen, not because I think the song fits the vibe literally at all, but because it was too cheesy of an opportunity to pass up.

Eddie loves his job, he really does. Even with all the shit a group of twenty-six ten year-olds can throw at him, he still  _ loves _ what he does. Really, the parents are far worse than the kids, too many of them fitting the stereotypical mold of what an obnoxious LA parent is. He rarely interacts with them face-to-face, most discussion passing through the middlemen of their nannies and drivers, or via incessant emails about their uniquely-named child’s dietary restrictions. His actual students aren’t even the cause for at least  _ half _ of the issues that plague him as a teacher at a private Los Angeles elementary school. Most of them are well-mannered, capable, socially aware kids, if not a little spoiled thanks to their environment.

But then there’s Little Miss Peggy Tozier.

Hyperactive, wise-cracking, class clown and disruption extraordinaire, Peggy Tozier. It would be one thing if she were just another one of his attention-deficit students— Eddie has plenty of experience guiding their surplus of energy into a creative and productive outlet that suits them better than the average student. At least in those cases it’s  _ manageable _ .

Kids can be complicated, especially at this pre-teen age. They’re transitioning into becoming real little humans, and most of the time he’s more than happy to assist all of his students along in their awkward journeys towards adolescence. He doesn’t want to write off any of the kids under his supervision as beyond help.

Yet somehow, only a month into the school year, he’s starting to think he has what could be considered a lost cause on his hands.

None of his usual methods seem to have any effect. Peggy, go sit in the hallway? Gladly. March yourself down to the Principal’s office? She’ll find a fun detour along the way. Don’t mark up your desk with pen? She’ll scribble on her arms and legs instead. Come to the front of the class and read that note you’re passing? An open stage for her to test new comedy material on her fellow classmates. Spend your recess inside with me? Perfect opportunity to talk Mr. K’s ear off so he never considers this “punishment” again. Write me a letter on why what you did in class today was wrong? Two paragraphs of subtly written implications that Mr. K can shove it.

Extra assignments, scolding in front of the rest of the class, revoking classroom privileges… water off of a very annoying duckling’s back. It’s like she doesn’t even know the meaning of  _ punishment _ .

He’s seen plenty of cases like this before, and with someone acting out as often as Tozier does, there has to be some issues going on in her home life. Not enough attention from the parents, siblings she could be in competition with, living in a non-productive household, the list goes on.

So he starts sending letters home with her. Letters that depict the plethora of issues Peggy seems to be struggling with in class, to be signed by a parent or legal guardian, not a nanny or house staff.

The first one comes back with what’s clearly a forged signature, the cursive lettering shaky and looping without forming any real letters. The next one comes back with a coffee ring stain and no signature at all. The one after that comes back with the bottom half completely ripped off, Peggy claiming that her dad did sign it right before her dog promptly took a bite out of it.

Many excuses later, he receives the letter back with what appears to be a real signature that he can’t make out more than a capital letter R and the last name Tozier. The space at the bottom of the letter for the parent to notate what efforts they’ll make to improve the child’s performance when it comes to school is left blank.

He sighs. At least someone is seeing it. Whether or not they’re actually reading the contents is still up for debate.

He continues to draft up what feels more and more like a list of symptoms that should be given to a doctor— Much like the ones he used to watch his mother fabricate as a child.  _ Disruptive behavior, refusing to participate in shared reading time, snacking during class, vandalizing school property, argumentative, verbally berating classmates, disrespectful language towards teachers, abusing bathroom privileges, affinity for whoopee cushions _ … No matter what kind of attention he tries to call towards Peggy’s behavioral problems, each memorandum is returned with a signature of acknowledgement and little else.

Eddie checks the school records for some kind of direct contact. Both numbers listed underneath Richard Tozier are bad, one out of service and the other forcing him to leave a voicemail that gets cut off after thirty seconds. There is no information for a mother or any extended family. Ah, hard way it is.

By the sixth week of school, it’s finally Eddie’s turn for car-line duty. All of the teachers at Oceanside Elementary get rotated in pairs to oversee the pick-ups and drop-offs of the kids, making sure they get inside safely and that no one gets hit by a rogue, slow-rolling Tesla. So quiet, those electric cars.

It happens to be one of the rare and elusive rainy days in Los Angeles, Eddie equipped with a rain slicker so he doesn’t spend the day soaked and catch pneumonia (it could happen) and large umbrella to help the kids get from their parents’ cars to the building with minimal casualties. Half of them are more than happy to test out their rarely used galoshes, stomping around in every available puddle on the sidewalk.

He spots a familiarly obnoxious neon green and orange backpack up ahead, Ms. Kerrington from down the hall already helping Peggy out of a large, black SUV. Eddie runs up to them, catching her arm for a moment. “Debra, do you mind covering the line for a moment? I just need to speak with a parent really quick.”

“Sure thing, Eddie,” she replies, looking a bit confused. He catches dark, narrowed eyes from Peggy as he hurries past to catch the car before it pulls away from the curb.

He knocks on the tinted passenger side window, squinting through the rain and waving at whoever is inside. The window rolls down half-way, just enough for Eddie to see a red-headed woman sitting behind the wheel, lowering her sunglasses at him. “Can I help you?”

“Sorry to keep you, I’m Eddie Kaspbrak, Peggy’s teacher? I was hoping you had a moment to talk about some concerns I have—”

“Oh god, what did she do now?” the woman sighs loudly before reaching across the console to throw the door open, Eddie jumping back to avoid it. “Hop on in.”

“Thank you,” he breathes gratefully, fumbling the umbrella closed before he jumps into the passenger seat. He considers feeling bad for the fact that he’s getting these leather seats all wet, but then he remembers that the kind of people that can afford oversized SUVs with custom interiors can also afford to get them cleaned. “Are you Peggy’s mother?”

“I might as well be,” she scoffs and pulls the car up and around the corner so the rest of the parents and drivers can continue onto their busy days. “I’m more of a mother to her dad than anything else.” She sticks out a hand. “Beverly Marsh. Richie’s assistant, social media and life-in-general manager, and ipso facto kid-wrangler.”

Eddie shakes her hand. “Nice to meet you, Miss Marsh.”

“Bev is fine,” he watches as she picks up her phone off the dash, frowning at the screen before she sets it down again. “So what’s the issue this time? She bite another kid?”

“Er, no… at least, not as far as I’m aware. It’s more about her behavior in general. Now, it’s mostly stuff I wouldn’t normally raise flags for— harmless pranks, some occasional swearing, general goofing off during class time— but nothing I do seems to be getting through to her. I’ve been sending notes home with her for her dad to review and sign, but I’m not noticing any real changes in her behavior.” Bev is nodding along to everything he’s saying with a slightly detached expression, but he can see the concern in her green eyes. This is always his least favorite part of the job. Even if Bev isn’t her mom, it’s not easy to hear that you may or may not be doing something wrong with your kid, or feel like someone else is questioning your parenting choices. “I just wanted to touch base with someone and make sure everything is alright at home?”

Beverly sighs, her hand twitching towards the console before she thinks better of it. “Peg is a good kid. A bit obnoxious at times, but she’s not  _ bad _ ,” she sighs, Eddie nodding emphatically. “She gets it from her dad, I guess.”

“Is he home a lot? I don’t really know what he does for a living,” Eddie admits. There’s so many professional working parents in LA that they all start to blur together in a haze of actor-director-writer-physical trainer-model-lawyer-upstart founder-bloggers.

“Really?” Bev’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Wow. I mean, not knocking you or anything— even if it is my job to help make him a household name— I guess I’m just surprised with all his exposure over the last year. But, hey, the guy could use the occasional blow to his ego,” she laughs. “He’s a comedian. Stand-up, mostly, but he’s had his hands in writing and show running more recently. Even racked in some awards in the last couple years.”

A comedian. Peggy makes a lot more sense to him now. “Uh, yeah, sorry, not a big stand-up guy. My Netflix queue is pretty neglected as far as TV goes too.”

She shrugs it off. “Hey, we’ve all been there. Anyways, he’s on tour right now for his next special, but he comes home as often as possible to spend time with her— way more than most parents who work as much as he does.”

Eddie shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Do you know when he might be back in LA next? I’d like to try and set up a meeting with him as soon as possible so we can help Peggy get back on track.”

She picks her phone up again, swiping away multiple notifications so she can scroll through a calendar. Her face screws up in annoyance. “Unfortunately, he’s juggling press junkets alongside his own tour right now, so his schedule is pretty packed,” She reaches inside the pocket of her blazer, holding out a business card between two fingers. “Here’s my contact info. Shoot me an email and I’ll be sure to set something up as soon as he’s back in town.”

He accepts the business card, hoping that Bev isn’t just dishing out her rehearsed schpiel she gives to anyone who dares ask for a single moment of Richie Tozier’s precious time. “Thanks, Bev.”

She catches his arm before he gets out of the car. “I meant what I said. Peggy’s a really good kid.”

“I know she is,” Eddie replies earnestly before pulling the hood back up on his plastic poncho. “I’ll be in touch.”

* * *

Eddie’s emails get the same, generic, most likely pre-prepared response: Richie’s schedule is  _ unfortunately full for the near future, but as soon as there is an opening we’ll try and squeeze you in _ . It’s an email he’s  _ very _ used to receiving.

Thankfully, Peggy’s behavior hasn’t escalated, but it hasn’t improved by much either. She’s happily plateaued at occasionally talking back in class and gluing her hands to her desk to make her classmates laugh. Only once does he have to take a pair of safety scissors and carefully dislodge a piece of bubblegum from the end of her hair when she tried to see how high she could spit the gum up in the air and still catch it in her mouth.

As September comes to a close, the school puts on an arts and crafts auction to help raise money. Really, Eddie finds all these “fundraising” attempts to be more self-indulgent than anything else. It’s a private elementary school in California, for Christ's sake. It’s not like the parents aren’t already throwing exorbitant amounts of money at the school just to get their kid in the door. A good chunk of the proceeds do go towards donations to organizations that  _ actually _ need the money— Boys & Girls clubs, shelters for homeless and/or domestic abuse victims, and even LGBT+ youth centers around Los Angeles. That last one Eddie pushed for, not that he had to push very hard considering it’s one of the most accepting cities in America, despite all its flaws.

Eddie usually loathes any of the parent-involved events, finding that it’s used more as a networking tool and pissing contest rather than a focus on the kids or the faculty. He does his due diligence though, making the rounds with a cup of punch in hand, smiling and nodding between polite conversations.

A sudden uproar of laughter from down the hallway pulls his attention, Eddie rounding the corner to see a small group gathered around one of the walls of art.

“I’m just saying!” A voice exclaims as Eddie comes closer. “These kids know what kind of demo they’re appealing to. Big wig studio execs pay out both fuckin’ nostrils to have this kinda shit hanging on their walls. You take any one of these finger paintings and tell some rich sap it’s  _ Post-Modern Impressionism Dada _ and the idiot will be forking over a few grand in no time— Ain’t that right, Mark?”

Another wave of laughter, the other parents aiming friendly shoves towards the presumed  _ Mark _ , an older man in a freshly pressed suit who’s cackling so hard he’s going red in the face. The crowd starts to disperse, still snickering and ribbing one another as Eddie peers past them to the source of entertainment.

The guy looks like he just rolled out of bed to be here. Messy hair that appears genuine and not like it was styled to look that way, overgrown five o’clock shadow, oversized black-frame glasses, and a beat up leather jacket overtop a hideous Hawaiian print shirt that looks like it’s never seen an iron before. He’s never particularly been a fan of  _ Disheveled-But-Chic _ , a popular look amongst single, LA men his age, but the worst part is that Eddie doesn’t even think that’s what this guy is going for. He just unintentionally  _ looks like that _ .

One look at the guy and basic deduction skills are enough for Eddie to piece together who he is as he approaches. “You must be Peggy’s dad.”

“Ah, so my reputation precedes me,” Richie says in a poor attempt at a posh accent, wide grin in place. He turns to face him, sticking his hand out. “Richie Tozier, at your service.”

The first thing thought to cross Eddie’s mind is that Peggy is this guy’s spitting image. She has his same tousle of dark curls, same mischievous smirk when she has something clever on the tip of her tongue, just dying to escape the confines of her big mouth. At least her father is biological evidence that one day she’ll hopefully grow into those teeth of hers.

“Eddie Kaspbrak. Your daughter is in my class,” he introduces himself, shaking Richie’s hand. His palm is rougher than he expects, long, calloused fingers wrapping easily around Eddie’s hand.

“Kaspbrak,” Richie repeats, seeming to chew on the word for a moment, mull it over. “Really rolls off the tongue.”

“You can just call me, Mr. K,” Eddie amends. “Everyone else does.” He learned very quickly that the awkward consonants coupled together to make his name is a tall order for both children and adult mouths to conquer.

“Hm, how about Eddie?” Richie proposes, seeming to have come up with a compromise all by himself. “Eds? Eduardo? Edmundolo?”

“Just Eddie is fine,” he mumbles, brushing off the informality. He gestures to the wall, “Anything you looking to take home? I heard from a pretty reliable source that this piece is Post-Modern Impressionistic Dada.”

Richie actually grins at his poor attempt at humor, playing along as he squints and gestures at the construction paper collage on the wall. “You might wanna get a new source. This is  _ clearly _ Abstract Cubism, you can see the influence of  _ Guernica’s _ anti-war rhetoric right here.”

“I’m starting to see where Peggy’s affinity for bullshitting is coming from,” Eddie muses with a smile.

“She learned from the best— Hey, aren’t you a teacher? Weren’t you, like, sworn in by the clergy to abstain from ever saying naughty words?”

“You’re thinking of Catholicism and celibacy,” Eddie snorts. “Of which I follow neither.”

Richie tilts his head to the side, looking him over. “Noted.”

Eddie does his best to refrain from blushing, unsure of why he’s trying to crack jokes with a professional comedian. “ _ Besides _ , your kid has said a lot worse in my classroom. Don’t think I don’t know where she gets it from.”

Richie holds his hands up, “Hey, we all make a living one way or another. Mine just happens to be getting on stage and saying a bunch of bad words in front of people to mediocre success.”

“Sounds like you had them eating out of the palm of your hand,” Eddie points out, jerking his head back towards the parents still roaming the halls.

“LA parents are too fuckin’ easy, man. I’m just the lowly court jester that comes along to make funny-but-true commentary about how annoying and ridiculous they are, and they all gotta laugh and nod along because then they’re  _ self-aware _ ,” Richie scoffs. “Meanwhile, these limp-dicked chucklefucks think they’re in on the joke, nudging their 20-something year-old third wives and telling them  _ ‘that sounds exactly like insert generic white dude name here’ _ , not even realizing they’re the exact asshole I’m making fun of.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows at the fast-paced rant, finding that crassness aside, he couldn’t agree more. “Seeing as I’m trying to stay on these people’s good sides, I’m not going to comment.”

“Ah,  _ now _ you abstain,” Richie laughs. He winks and throws an elbow to Eddie’s side. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Eddie smiles through the invasion of his personal bubble, making a mental note to add Richie to his Parental Record spreadsheet under the  _ Overly Friendly  _ column as well as several others.

“I’m actually surprised to see you here,” Eddie brings the conversation back to formal ground. “I’ve been trying to get in contact with you for a while through your assistant.”

“Oh, yeah, Bev mentioned something about the school. Sorry, things have been so crazy lately with the tour, my schedule has just been jam-packed.”

_ Here we go again, _ Eddie groans internally.  _ Another Booked and Busy parent who lets their kid take the backseat to their career _ . “I’ve sent some notes home with Peggy as well in regards to her behavior during class. Has it actually been you signing them or can I assume her forgery skills are getting better?”

“Notes? Oh, fuck...” Richie sighs and wipes a hand over his face, knocking his glasses askew. “Yeah, I’ve been signing them. Peggy was bringing me those things right after I got off a flight so I was totally brain dead. I’m such an ass— I just thought they were permission slips or something, man.”

“It’s okay,” Eddie says, unsurprised that the kid was finding a loophole in his attempts. “Now that you’re here though, I’m hoping we can set up a parent-teacher conference sometime soon. I normally wouldn’t ask this, but... is Peggy’s mom in the picture?” 

Richie’s discomfort is immediately apparent, Eddie regretting his decision to bring it up at all. Luckily, they’re interrupted by a voice from down the hallway before Richie can even attempt to answer the borderline inappropriate question.

“There you are!” Principal Yung chides, her clicking heels echoing down the hallway as she hurries over to them. “We can’t exactly have an auction without our auctioneer.”

Eddie looks back at Richie with raised eyebrows. “You’re the auctioneer tonight?”

Richie smiles sardonically, holding his arms out. “That’s kind of the whole reason I’m here. Bev was so kind as to volunteer my services on one of my only nights back in LA before I finish the last few dates on my tour.”

Of course this guy didn’t show up out of the goodness of his own heart. Plus, being the auctioneer is a great way to get out of having to actually bid on anything and shell out some cash to the school…

“We’ll talk after,” Richie says, cuffing Eddie on the shoulder as he goes to follow the principal back to the cafeteria where the auction is being held. “Time to go do what I do best.”

“Talk obnoxiously fast and loud?” Eddie calls after him.

Richie aims another wink over his shoulder. “You catch on quick, Mr. K!”

Eddie takes to the back of the room during the auction, finding that, quite unsurprisingly, Richie is adept at hocking children’s art projects onto a crowd of rich people with bottomless Venmo accounts. He manages to stir up bidding wars and goad people into paying exorbitant amounts for Papier-mâché unicorns and glitter-encrusted dream catchers. It’s probably the best they’ve ever done at one of these events, just going to show that they probably should’ve been getting a professional to do this instead of one of the unwilling faculty members. Richie makes it look so easy, coming up with these outrageous listings at the drop of a hat, keeping the energy up in what would normally be a rather dull school function. The cafeteria is raucous with laughter, and Richie even gets a  _ standing fucking ovation _ at the end of it.

Richie is a popular guy even among the most snobbish celebrity parents, many of them crowding around him after the auction to squeeze some more laughter into their tedious, uniformed lives. Finding it near impossible to corner him, Eddie decides to wait out in the parking lot to catch him on his way out. He plays a one-man game of Try to Guess Which Car Belongs to Richie Tozier, which isn’t quite as entertaining as it sounds. Something about the Lambo that’s been wrapped in electric yellow vinyl has Richie written all over it, but it ends up belonging to one of those CW show DILFs that he can’t recall the name of.

“Aw, Sweetheart, I thought I told you not to wait up,” Richie suddenly says directly next to him, Eddie nearly jumping out of his skin.

He recovers quickly, flashing an unimpressed look. “Didn’t feel like wading my way through all of your adoring fans.”

“I don’t blame you. Those pilates moms are ruthless,” Richie says with a shudder, dragging his hand over the railing as he walks down the steps.

“So, about that meeting?” Eddie says, forced to trail after the other man.

“Meeting?” Richie hums, patting himself down to find his own keys.

“Yeah, the parent-teacher conference? About Peggy? Your daughter?” Eddie reminds flatly.

“Oh, right, her,” Richie says with a grin, victoriously pulling a key ring from his back pocket that’s loaded down by more hokey souvenir key chains than actual keys. “Uhh, yeah I don’t really know my schedule. I’m flying out to Austin first thing tomorrow and I won’t be back in LA for another week at least.”

Eddie rolls his eyes freely while Richie’s back is turned to him— and does the guy  _ seriously _ have to take such big strides with those long legs of his? He can barely keep up. “Well, I’d be  _ grateful _ if you can find the time to squeeze me in if you’re interested in addressing your daughter’s behavioral issues.”

Eddie worries he’s gone too far when Richie suddenly comes to a stop. When he turns to face him, though, he’s smiling. “You’ve got balls on you, Eddie. I like that in a man.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to pass my condolences along to all the ball-less men out there who I’m sure are just  _ heartbroken _ that they’ll never get a chance with you,” Eddie replies in a huff before he can stop himself. He has no idea what it is about this guy that just makes him spew this immature playground banter, but he sure doesn’t like it.

Richie laughs again, and maybe Eddie should take it as a compliment. (He doesn’t. He refuses.) “I just meant I’m glad you’re not one of those ass-kissing pushover teachers, of which I saw plenty of in there tonight,” he jerks his thumb back towards the school. “They don’t have the guts to tell parents things they might not wanna hear, even though they probably spend more time with some of those kids than their own parents do.”

Eddie remembers how to bite his tongue before he can comment on how Richie currently doesn’t have much of a leg to stand on considering his tour schedule.

“Anyway, if we have a meeting I want Peggy to be there. I don’t really believe in “adult talk” that she shouldn't be allowed to hear if it's  _ about her _ , y’know?” Richie starts walking again only to come to a stop by a cherry red, Mustang GT convertible.

“Huh,” Eddie says aloud, trying to mentally match the pony car to its owner. Now that he thinks about it for a moment, it should’ve been so much more obvious. It’s the poster child of every 12 year-old boy’s dream car, readily able to be purchased amidst a mid-life crisis.

“What?” Richie asks, opening the driver’s side door.

“Nothing,” he covers quickly. “Uh, sure, Peggy can be there. I normally don’t allow students to come to the meetings, but—”

“You know what,” Richie interrupts. “I have a better idea. Why don’t you just come over for dinner once I’m back in town? That way we can all just sit down and hash things out without all the formality.”

That throws Eddie off his rhythm, but if going over to the Tozier’s for dinner is the only way to finally pin them down, he doesn’t seem to have much of a choice. “Um, sure. If you can just give me your direct email, I’m sure we can figure out a date.”

“ _ Bah!  _ The only email I have is the business one, and Bev handles all that stuff,” Richie brushes him off with a wave of his hand. He pulls a marker out of his jacket pocket, gesturing for Eddie to give him his hand. “Why don’t I just give you my cell?”

Eddie just stares at the outstretched hand. “You just keep a Sharpie on you?”

Richie just grins and gives a helpless shrug. “Autographs.”

_ Douchebag _ .

Eddie sighs and fishes around in the outer pocket of his messenger bag. “How about you spare me the ink poisoning and just put your number in my phone like a normal person?”

“Scoring the teacher’s digits?” Richie accepts the proffered phone with a wide grin. “I’ve seen this movie before.”

Eddie rolls his eyes again, ignoring the implication. “Technically, I’m scoring yours.”

“Lucky you!” Richie hands his phone back with a little too much glee. “Just don’t make me wait too long for a text so I can have yours too, alright?”

“Have a good night, Mr. Tozier,” Eddie replies dully, accepting his phone.

“You too, Eddie,” he snickers, thankfully getting in his car instead of continuing to annoy him.

Eddie doesn’t look at his phone until Richie’s already long gone, scoffing at the screen once he’s gotten into his own car. The contact info simply reads “Richie” with an eggplant and a heart emoji, both of which are quickly deleted and replaced with the proper surname. He doesn’t exactly make it a habit to keep parents’ contacts on his personal phone, but he adds “Peggy Tozier - Father” to the company line for his own sake.

He thinks about texting Richie when he gets home so he’ll have his number, thumb hovering over the blank iMessage before he decides against it.

Since Richie had no problems making Eddie wait, he can stand to sweat a little too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is a little over halfway done, so I'll hopefully be updating a new chapter every week or so! Any comments and kudos are appreciated <3


	2. whadd'ya think the teacher's gonna look like this year?

That night, Eddie does his research. Because if there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s homework.

He starts with Wikipedia, the most clinical, efficient approach. He’ll have plenty of time to scour tabloid headlines about Richie later.

There, he learns that Richard Wentworth Tozier (better known by “Richie” or “Trashmouth”) was born on March 7th, 1984 (currently 35 years old), and is known for his work as a comedian, former radio host, writer, producer, and director. He has no listed spouse and one child, Margaret Tozier. Eddie skips over the Early and Personal Life sections, skimming through Career until he gets to the Filmography portion of the page.

His most recent special was released five years ago, leaving a pretty big gap that was evidently filled with co-writing a movie with Andy Samberg— the kind of slapstick comedy Eddie would rather  _ die _ than go see— as well as a few more writing and producer credits on some other projects. He was a writer on SNL for three years before getting in front of the camera and joining the cast for a surprisingly short two-season run before leaving for unknown reasons. He has only one other on-screen acting credit, a single-appearance guest role on  _ Broad City _ back when it was still a web series and hadn’t yet been picked up by Comedy Central for mainstream distribution. His current involvement aside from his ongoing stand-up tour is for a show created by himself and Jordan Peele, with co-writers Ali Wong and Dan Levy, of which Richie is also listed as a director for several episodes. It’s a dark comedy, anthology series starring several big names in the comedy world that even Eddie has heard of with his limited knowledge, as well as up-and-comers whose careers have skyrocketed since joining the cast. It’s currently being produced for a fourth season and is highly praised by both critics and audiences alike, earning several accolades, including—

“He has a fucking  _ Emmy _ ?” Eddie squeaks in disbelief to his empty apartment. “ _ Three _ fucking Emmys?”

Still skimming the filmography, Eddie turns on his TV and brings up Netflix, deciding to start from the beginning. Richie’s very first, hour-length special came out twelve years ago, and is appropriately named  _ Trashmouth _ .

On his screen, a twenty-three year old Richie Tozier is somewhat recognizable compared to the man he met today. His fashion sense hasn’t seemed to change, the younger Richie wearing dark jeans with holes ripped in the knees, dirty Converse high tops, and a hideous Hawaiian print shirt. He’s just as tall as he is now but much scrawnier, thin and gangly with a mop of dark curls that haven’t yet been shorn off to the shorter cut he wears now.

Rocky would be a  _ nice _ way to describe it. His comedy is vulgar and chocked full of pop culture references and sex jokes. There’s a few instances of him verbally obliterating any hecklers in the audience, everyone eating it up. This obnoxious, frat boy (who’s secretly a little nerdy), dick-joke-slinging persona is definitely not what Eddie finds  _ funny _ .

His next special comes only one year later and is proclaimed by Netflix’s description to be the show that landed him his spot on SNL. Eddie starts it with low expectations, and while  _ The Voices in my Head  _ is not much better than  _ Trashmouth  _ in his personal opinion, it gets a couple of sharp nose-exhales out of him. His brand is still just as ridiculous, the twenty-four year-old having not quite moved past pantomiming sex acts on stage. This special has a little more personality to it, filled with Richie doing all sorts of voices and characters, detailing a few personal stories as well, one of which really catches Eddie’s attention.

“So, I’m going to be a father soon,” Richie announces to the audience as the laughter from his last joke about being deathly terrified of clowns fades. It’s met with a lot of cheering and clapping, which Richie immediately shuts down. “No, no, no, don’t applaud that. I’m gonna let you guys in on a little secret,” He takes the microphone off the stand and walks forward, crouching down towards the edge of the stage. “Men don’t actually have to do  _ jack shit. _ ”

Hooping and hollering from all the women in the audience. Richie stands back up and starts his usual pace back and forth across the stage. “I’m always hearing guys complain about how—” He shifts his voice to the “Macho Man” character. _ “—Yeah, maybe women have it bad, but  _ we’re _ the ones that have to deal with them!” _ He rolls his eyes, switching back to his regular voice. “I mean, give me a fucking break. So what, maybe your wife or your girlyfriend is a little more irritable for nine months because they’re growing  _ another fucking human being inside of their stomachs to then have to push them out of their butts _ — Okay, I guess I don’t really know how babies work—”

He lets the laughter run its course, smiling a little to himself as he walks back to the mic stand, his expression shifting a little. “But, you know, we’re kind of past all the scary shit, right? Doctor’s say she hasn’t got any extra fingers or toes or— god forbid, the worst possible thing a baby could have— a penis.” More laughter. “But I’m still really worried. And I hear that anyone who’s had kids get those same fears… The fear that my kid is gonna be  _ so much cooler than me _ . No, seriously! You think about how when you were a kid you thought your parents were such lame asses. Now, as we’ve already established, I was kind of a loser growing up. I’m a loser  _ now _ . And I’m a loser who’s going to have a fucking child, like, who allowed that? Shouldn’t the government have to come in and evaluate anyone before they’re allowed to procreate?...”

He then goes into a bit about a robot coming to scan himself and the  _ Baby Mama _ . Eddie’s wondering if he’ll get any more details about Peggys’ mother, but all he learns through self-deprecating jokes is that they’re  _ an unmarried couple in show business who can’t stand each other outside of the bedroom (and if you asked her, Richie doesn’t really understand her in the bedroom either)  _ before he’s moved onto the next punchline.

Richie has two more specials over a six year period, and these are the funniest yet. He earns some genuine chuckles out of Eddie with  _ Daddy On Board _ and  _ The Losers Club _ , both of which have a pretty dramatic shift from his earlier specials. The humor is still fast-paced and clever, the immaturity once worn with pride now regarded with embarrassed acknowledgement. The stories he tells on stage are still profane, but now a little more personal, including what Eddie can only hope are exaggerated anecdotes from his childhood. He talks about the transition of his life as he went from Chicago to New York to Los Angeles, and has plenty of stories about fumbling through fatherhood.

Eddie’s initial instinct that Richie was just another deadbeat dad feels so off base now, hearing how fondly he talks about his daughter on stage. Sure, he’s cracking jokes about how he’s almost punched her in the face thinking she was possessed because of her sleepwalking, or forgetting her in the back of a cab, or trying and failing to use her as a tool to pick up women, but it’s clear he thinks the world of her. Peggy’s mom, again, isn’t mentioned more than a passing punchline, Richie a self-proclaimed “single father” when he tells these stories.

Having officially fallen too deep into the rabbit hole, Eddie’s journey takes him to YouTube where he finds an abundance of interviews and compilation videos spanning over the past several years. He finds the most recent interview, clips from  _ The Tonight Show  _ that were posted just a few days ago. He’s not surprised to see that in the thumbnails Richie is his own version of dressed up: a loud-patterned shirt buttoned up beneath a dark velvet blazer.

Braced for an onslaught of Jimmy Fallon’s obnoxious fake laughter, Eddie is pleasantly surprised to see that Richie seems to be part of the rare few guests that actually earn a genuine laugh out of the talk show host. He watches the sit-down interview first, the two of them reminiscing about being SNL alumns, even though they missed each other, what with Richie starting not long after Fallon left the show. Richie’s congratulated on his critically acclaimed show and they joke about how he tripped on stage when accepting his Golden Globe. They talk about how much Richie misses his daughter while on the road, and the fact that at age ten she’s already way funnier than he’ll ever be. He asks about the current sold out tour, and what it’s like for Richie to be back on stage doing stand-up after a five year break.

“So, you’re going to give us a little sneak preview to your next special tonight, right?” Fallon asks, as if he doesn’t already know. The audience cheers loudly as Richie nods. “Tell us a little bit about the show.”

“Well, it’s sort of a more personal look into my life and just what I’ve been up to for the past few years. For most of my shows I’ve always told stories about other people, y’know, my parents, my childhood friends, my kid, and even strangers I’ve met, so I decided it’s time I do what every middle-aged white dude in LA does best and force people to listen to me talk about  _ myself _ .”

“Awesome, well I love that,” Jimmy laughs with his big-toothed smile. He holds up a promotional image, Richie standing in front of a theater with his own name on the marquee, alongside the title of the show that Eddie has to take a closer look at to make sure he’s seeing it correctly. “When we come back, Richie Tozier will perform a bit of his ongoing comedy tour,  _ Bi the Way _ .”

The next video is titled exactly that, Eddie staring at the screen.  _ Bi the Way _ . He lets the video autoplay, showing him Richie standing in front of the Tonight Show’s audience with a mic in hand. The audience’s cheers take a while to die down, Richie waiting with a humorous patience until the room is quiet. “So,” he says into the mic, pausing for a moment. “I’m bisexual.”

The applause is deafening. Richie waves it off, shaking his head. “No, no, sit down, sit down… Thank you, though, I appreciate it. If thirteen year old me knew I’d get a standing O for admitting that out loud one day, he probably would have a lot less guilt about  **_[beep]_ ** with a  _ Playgirl _ —” He looks off camera. “Oh, I can’t say that on TV? Whoops. Anyway, yes, I am bisexual, which I admittedly have some problems with… Now, it’s nothing serious, it’s not like I  _ mind _ , but my biggest problem— other than having a very expansive pool of people to reject me— is that I don’t  _ look _ bisexual.” Laughter as he holds his arms out and gestures to himself, doing a slow spin for the crowd. “Now, I know what you’re thinking,  _ ‘Richie, what is a bisexual person supposed to look like?’ _ And to be slightly out of character and put the funny ha-has on hold for a sec, I want to put out a quick disclaimer: Everything I’m about to say in regards to sexuality is  _ my _ experience, and my experience alone, and it’s not my intention to offend anyone else. While it’s absolutely not cool to try and label people based on hurtful stereotypes, they do exist, and I’m going to use them to do what I do best and make jokes at my own expense. Anyone— and I do mean anyone— no matter their sexual or gender identity, the way they dress, the color of their skin,  _ anything— _ ” He has to pause for the cheering and whistling that starts up, letting the swell of it pass before he continues. “Anyone should love and be attracted to anyone they want, full stop.”

The crowd loves it, giving him another standing ovation. In a world of comedians defending their offensive “jokes” left and right, it’s a breath of fresh air to hear someone who knows how to acknowledge that it’s not criminal to make light of more serious topics if it’s done right and comes from a place of good nature.

“Phew! Now that that’s out of the way, back to me being a schlubby piece of **_[beep]_ ** with no fashion sense—”

Eddie closes the tab, letting the new information sink in. So all the shameless flirting hadn’t just been an act or some weird attempt to appeal to his good side. Richie might have actually been  _ interested _ , even if he didn’t know that Eddie’s gay.

Not that it matters anyway. Eddie would  _ never _ date a student’s parent, let alone  _ Richie _ . Richie Tozier is so far from his type it’s almost laughable.

He considers texting Richie to give him his number, picking up his phone to see it’s almost 2 a.m., which is the latest Eddie has stayed up in a  _ while _ . Grateful it’s not a school night, he shuts his laptop and goes through his usual nightly routine, doing his best to banish Richie’s many, obnoxious voices from his brain.

He spends the following days binge-watching Richie’s show. He intends for it to be background watching, something he has on in the living room while he cooks himself dinner or grades his students’ assignments. It only takes one episode where John Mulaney plays an unknowing personal assistant to an actor-by-day, hitman-by-night before he’s completely sucked in.

It’s  _ good _ . He’s absolutely pissed to find out that it's  _ really fucking good _ . It’s clever and witty and interesting with the perfect balance of drama and comedy, Eddie finding himself completely invested in these characters who he only gets to know for a single episode before the next one starts with a completely new story. It’s interesting beyond just the performances and the dialogue, the cinematography and soundtrack keeping his eyes glued to the screen at all times. He has to limit himself to only one or two episodes per night, otherwise he won’t get anything else done.

By the next week, he decides he’s made Richie wait long enough. He brings up the contact, drafting up at least a dozen different attempts at a greeting before he finally settles on one, and hits send.

_ Watched a couple of episodes of Open Casket. I think Rotten Tomatoes is being a little dramatic calling it The Best Comedy Show in the Past 50 Years. _

The response comes almost immediately.

_ hi eddie! _

_ glad you're enjoying it ;) _

_ how far have you gotten? _

Eddie bites his lip. He doesn’t want to admit he’s already halfway through the third and most recent season.

_ Just one or two episodes. _

_ How’d you know it was me? _

_ i don’t give my personal number out very often and the only people who have gotten it in the past week are you and steve buscemi _

_ took a wild guess _

Eddie rolls his eyes and types out,  _ Let me know when you’re free for a quick call. Just want to get a date and time on that parent-teacher conference. _

He’s barely lifted his thumb off the send button when his phone is suddenly ringing.

“Patience is not your forte, I see,” he answers.

_ “Well, hello to you too, Mr. K!” _ Richie says cheerily. There’s a lot of background noise on his end of the call, Eddie struggling to hear him clearly.

“You didn’t have to call if now’s a bad time—”

“Nah, it’s fine. I don’t go on stage for another seven minutes—” Richie says, immediately interrupted by someone yelling at him in the background that may or may not be Bev. “Okay, five minutes. But I have all the time in the world for Peggy’s favorite teacher.”

“I’m her only teacher,” Eddie sighs drily. “And I’m far from her favorite.”

_ “One could argue that because you’re her only teacher, by default, you  _ are _ her favorite.” _

“By that logic, I’m her least favorite too,” Eddie points out with an eye roll.

_ “Yeah, well, logic was never my forte either.” _

“I’m starting to sense a pattern,” Eddie hums. “Anyway, I don’t want to distract you, we can talk later if it’s more convenient.”

_ “I’m back in LA tomorrow night,”  _ Richie says hurriedly, some movement on the other end of the line. _ “Dinner at my house, seven thirty— Hey!”  _

More rustling, some swearing, and then the female voice from before.  _ “Get on stage already, you jackass!— Hi, Eddie, it’s Bev. I’ll send you a calendar invite and Richie’s address for dinner, and you can let me know whether or not it works with your schedule, okay?” _

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Eddie answers, already knowing he has nothing more interesting to do on a Thursday night other than catch up on the latest episodes of  _ Big Brother _ .

_ “Great, Richie will talk to you later. Bye.” _

“Bye,” Eddie says after she’s already hung up. Within a few minutes, his phone pings with a dinner invite to Richie’s house in Laurel Canyon. 

Later that night, when he's already gotten in bed, his phone pings on the bedside table. He really should follow his policy of not looking at a screen past 10 p.m. to maintain a more restful sleep cycle, but he’s curious and maybe hoping the text is from who he thinks it’s from.

_ btw, i didn’t tell peggy that you’re coming over. it’ll be easier if we ambush her. just be prepared to block the doorways if she tries to bolt. also she fights dirty so protect your spaghetti noodle and meatballs if you catch my drift. _

Eddie groans and flips his phone face down, burying his face in his pillow. He always tries to approach kids with honesty to promote open communication, but even he can admit that ship has sailed with Tozier Mini.

Come the next morning’s roll call, Eddie realizes he doesn't have to worry about trying to keep his dinner attendance a secret; Peggy’s absent. Normally, Eddie would rejoice. His classroom will be significantly more calm today without her presence. He goes through his usual lessons with no interruptions, and waits until his lunch break to text Richie.

_ Hey, no Peggy in class today. Is everything okay? _

His class is watching a video about the amendments when he sees a message from Richie, peeking at his phone beneath the desk.

It’s a photo of himself and Peggy, her on his shoulders, sticking her tongue out at the camera while he holds up a peace sign. They appear to be out on a hike, both of them wearing baseball caps and squinting into the sun, the Hollywood Hills in the background.

_ decided to play hooky. quality time is important yanno? _

_ also hoping that if i spoil her enough today she’ll behave at dinner _

Eddie closes his eyes, deciding that text isn't the best way to criticize Richie’s parenting technique. It's nice that he wants to see his daughter during the short times he’s home, but pulling her out of school? He isn't going to pretend like missing a day or two of the fifth grade is going to completely destroy a kid, but when they already have problems and are now being told it’s no big deal if they miss a day to hang out with their  _ cool dad _ ? Eddie’s meeting might have to include some notes for Richie more than his daughter.

_ Alright, see you at seven thirty, _ Eddie replies before the video ends and he attempts to teach the rest of his lesson plan without being too distracted.

* * *

At seven, he’s still standing in front of the full length mirror in his closet, trying on too many polos only to find the same result. He doesn't know how to dress for this, but knowing Richie, it will be casual. He still wants to look at least somewhat professional since this will be outside of his usual classroom setting.

Eddie eventually settles on a simple henley with a cardigan overtop, forcing himself out the door before he ends up being late. (Not that he thinks Richie is the most punctual person in the world.) He gets slightly turned around, his little Subaru feeling out of place as it passes through security and rolls into the gated community. He gives up on the GPS completely, squinting out his rolled down window to try and read the house numbers the best he can as he traverses along the Santa Monica mountainside.

He finally arrives at his destination, Richie’s house tucked away behind another privacy gate that automatically opens as he drives up to it. He isn’t quite sure what to expect as he comes around the bend, but thankfully, it’s not as extravagant as some of the surrounding houses Eddie passed on his way here, which were more like condensed castles if you asked him. He comes across a Spanish-style home, large, but still reasonably sized for a two-to-three person household, with light stucco walls and deep red accents on the doors and along the tile roof. He parks next to Richie’s ridiculous cherry red cruiser, recognizing Bev’s SUV as well along with a couple of other cars parked along the drive that are just as flamboyant as the Mustang.

He’s fully expecting Beverly or someone else on the Tozier payroll to answer when he rings the doorbell. It turns out to be Richie himself who swings it open, glasses perched on top of his head, sporting an apron embroidered with  _ World’s Lamest Dad _ across the front.

“Welcome to the Tozier estate, my good sir!” He greets in that terrible British accent, waving his hand with a flourish. “May I take your coat?”

“You do realize it’s September in Los Angeles, right?” Eddie sighs.

Richie tilts his head upward, shaking his fist up at the sky, “I know. Curse this seasonless hellscape! Anyway, come on in.”

The place is neat, if not a little cluttered. Richie clearly doesn’t follow the new minimalist trend that everyone in their area is obsessed with, but there’s some clear style and design choices that he surmises must have come from someone with a background in it. Even if the overall aesthetic is polished with warm colored furniture, rustic sconces, and eclectic wall decorations, he can see the hints of Richie throughout, as well as plenty of Peggy’s belongings scattered across a couch or hastily shoved beneath a coffee table to be out of the foot traffic zone.

Richie’s giving the pseudo-tour which is really just him pointing out where the bathrooms are when footsteps come tromping down the stairs. Peggy appears at the landing, phone in hand, headphones in her ears.

Her expression sours the moment she sees Eddie. “What’s Mr. K doing here?”

“Well, I invited Eddie here over so that we could chop him up and eat him, Gumdrop,” Richie proclaims, throwing a friendly arm around his shoulders.

She rolls her eyes and heads for the kitchen, “I’ll get the oven preheated.”

Richie laughs and claps his hand a little too hard on Eddie’s back before letting him go completely. “I’m gonna have to start bringing her on tour with me, what do you think? Daddy-Daughter comedy duo could go over pretty well.”

“Let’s think about that after she gets herself through Elementary school,” Eddie hums, following behind Richie as he leads him towards the dining room.

There, he’s met with two surprises. One, Peggy is setting the table with absolutely zero complaint, though her closed mouth is twisted into a frown. On top of filling a pitcher with water, she even fetches wine glasses and the bottle that Richie directs her to grab, afterwards going to the fridge to grab herself a Capri-Sun. And two, Richie walks around the large kitchen countertop and takes the lid off a pot, tasting the sauce inside before adding a few things from the spice rack and giving it a stir. He half-expected the apron to be a gag.

Eddie bites his tongue before he can express his shock that they’re not eating takeout or a meal cooked by a personal chef. He peers curiously across the island, watching Richie bend down to pull something out of the oven.

“I hope you like chicken parmesan,” Richie says over his shoulder, draining the pasta in the sink. “You vegan?”

“Uh, no,” Eddie glances over his shoulder at Peggy already taking her place at the head of the table, tapping away on her phone.

“Cool. I mean, the pasta and cheese are vegan because Bev is insistent on trying to get me to eat healthy since I cram shitty fast food down my throat almost every night on tour. It’s honestly not too bad, but imitation meat is where I draw the line. Help me with that?”

Richie nods towards the pot of red suace, balancing bowls of spaghetti noodles and steamed veggies in one arm, a plate of breaded chicken in the other. Eddie quickly picks it up by the handles, carefully taking it over to the table and setting it down on the awaiting beaded pot holder.

“Wine, Eddie?” Richie offers after fixing up his plate, the mountain of spaghetti drowning in parmesan in front of him a possible health concern.

“I’m okay, thanks,” he says, scooping himself a more moderate amount of food. He has to admit, it smells delicious. He’s expanded his tastes over the years after moving away from Derry and his nutrient-obsessed mother, but Italian food is still a bit of a treat to this day from being denied it so much as a kid.

Richie sets the wine bottle down, not bothering to pour himself any either. He directs his attention to his daughter, “Alright, Tozier, phone away.”

Her eyes don’t leave the screen. “One sec, I’m about to destroy you in Scrabble…” she squints at the screen for a moment longer, lips curving into a pleased smile before she locks it and places it face down on the table.

Richie’s phone pings and he lowers his glasses back onto his face to look at the screen. “Egregious?! Where the fuck are you getting words like that from?” He looks across the table at Eddie with raised brows. “You teach her that?”

“Don’t look at me,” Eddie shrugs, admittedly amused. “Last time I checked, SAT vocabulary wasn’t in my lesson plan.”

“Phone away, Tozier,” Peggy teases her father who’s still staring at the screen, outraged.

“Oh, don’t be  _ egregious _ ,” Richie responds before putting his phone away.

“Definitely not what that means,” Eddie mutters under his breath, catching Peggy staring at him as she puts together her own plate of chicken parm.

Her eyes shift to her dad. “Is he here to grammar check our dinner?”

“Don't be rude,” Richie chides, using his fork to spear the chicken breast off her plate and drop it onto his own, ignoring her cry of protest. “He’s here because of  _ you _ , Little Miss.”

She glares sourly, quickly nabbing herself another piece of chicken and leaning back in her chair before it can be stolen again. “What the heck did  _ I _ do?” She grumbles under her breath with the expression of someone who knows exactly what the heck they did.

“It’s more a question of what you  _ haven’t _ done,” Richie says around a mouthful of food. “I know you’ve been lying to me about those ‘permission slips’, Kiddo. You know honesty is the number one policy in this house.”

“Right, so that’s why you lied to the school today and told them I was sick so we could go hiking?” Peggy counters.

Richie sighs. “Alright, I set myself up for that one. Sure, people lie all the time. But we don’t lie to  _ each other. _ ”

“Oh, really? Then why is Eddie here instead of Bev on family dinner night?” She asks with more authority than a ten year-old should be allowed to carry

Eddie stares down at his plate in discomfort, wondering if it’s too late to back out of this terrible idea he agreed to.

Richie scrubs a hand through his hair. “Technically, I didn’t lie to you because you didn’t ask about dinner.”

“An omission of the truth is still a lie,” Peggy recites haughtily, shoving a piece of chicken into her mouth as she looks to Eddie with innocent eyes. “Isn’t that right, Mr. K?”

He sits rigidly in his chair, giving another helpless shrug when both the Toziers stare at him. “Okay, so maybe she got that one from me,” he admits.

Richie shakes his head, dropping his fork onto the plate. “Alright, let’s just cut the shit, then. Peg, you need to stop misbehaving in Mr. K’s class.”

“ _ You _ used to pull pranks all the time as a kid!” She objects. “You tell me stories all the time! You talk about it in your shows and brag about being class clown in all your yearbooks! How come you get to do it but I don’t?”

“Yeah, I was a terrible little shit!” Richie admits with a laugh, throwing his hands up. “But I raised you better than that, Peg. Jokes are fine with your friends during lunch or recess, and sure, sometimes school can be a little boring and can use some lightening up, but there are  _ limits _ , honey.”

Eddie clears his throat, sitting a little straighter. “I’m sorry if coming to dinner surprised you. I wanted to meet with your dad to talk about things, but he wanted you to be here for it. I’ve had lots of students who act out during class because of other reasons, and I know it probably hasn’t been easy with your dad on tour. You may not realize it, but home life can affect—”

“You don’t know  _ anything _ about my home life,” Peggy interrupts angrily. “It’s just a couple of jokes!”

“Don’t interrupt,” Richie interjects, flicking a floret of broccoli at her.

“It’s more than that,” Eddie insists, keeping his tone calm. “If you don’t want to learn, that’s fine, I can’t force you. But some of the things you do in class are affecting other students, and that’s not very fair to them. I wanted to talk to you about anything that  _ I _ can do to improve your experience at school. I work with special needs kids all the time—”

“I don’t  _ have _ special needs,” Peggy argues, frustration clearly mounting as her cheeks redden. “This is  _ stupid _ . Just give me detention or extra homework or  _ whatever _ .”

“Sweetie, it’s okay…” Richie says softly, reaching over to rub her arm which she quickly yanks away. He furrows his brow. “Why haven’t you told Mr. K about your dyslexia?”

She doesn’t reply, still staring angrily down at her lap.

Eddie softens just a bit. “Do you have dyslexia, Peggy?”

“No,” she huffs, hands fisting in the tablecloth. “I just think reading is  _ stupid _ .”

“You know your Pappy Tozier had it too, right?” Richie pulls his hand back, still leaning towards her attentively. “It’s not a bad thing, Baby Girl. And we’re working on it, right? We read together on FaceTime, and play Scrabble to help your comprehension…”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Eddie agrees. “We can work on things outside of school, or set some time aside during class so I can work with you one-on-one—”

“No!” Peggy cries, chair scraping against the floor as she pushes herself away from the table. “I don’t want that! I don’t want to go back to school at all!” She shouts before running out of the dining room, stomping up the stairs. A door slams loudly, echoing through the house.

The room is silent for a while. Eddie looks awkwardly around them, clearing his throat. “Thank you for dinner, it was delicious... I should go.”

“No, you stay. Eat,” Richie sighs and gets to his feet, picking up her barely-touched plate. “I’ll go talk to her, see if I can get her to calm down a bit. Be back in a flash.”

Eddie watches him disappear up the stairs, left alone at the dinner table with his thoughts and half-eaten meal. He decides to take Richie’s advice and polishes off the rest of the plate, the disaster of a Parent-Teacher-Child conference only mildly diminishing the robust flavors.

Richie doesn’t come back after ten minutes. Eddie clears their leftover plates and begins to roam around the first floor, peeking into any rooms with cracked doors for some light snooping while he’s left to his own devices. He stumbles across what seems like a small storage room, a glint of light inside catching his eye when he pushes the door open further.

Beyond the vacuum cleaner, random knick-knacks, and extra toilet paper rolls, he finds a half open cardboard box with something shining and golden sticking out.

“No fucking way,” Eddie mutters under his breath, pulling the flaps open to see three Emmys haphazardly thrown into the box along with other dust-covered awards and plaques.  _ Richie Tozier - Outstanding Comedy Series - Open Casket, Richie Tozier - Best Supporting Actor in a Comedy Series - SNL, Best Comedy Ensemble Cast - Open Casket _ , so on and so forth.

He makes a swift exit from the closet, wondering why Richie feels the need to hide away all those accomplishments. He’s probably keeping them out of sight until they’re properly polished so they can be on full display on a shelf above his bed or something. As he wanders through the hallways, he notices the walls are mostly taken up by vintage, light-boxed movie posters, questionable yard sale paintings, and then plenty of photos of Richie, Peggy, and Beverly. Eddie finds himself smiling as he looks at the photos of them on the beach, goofing around on set at SNL, with an older couple he assumes to be Peggy’s grandparents, so on and so forth. What he does notice is the lack of any photos of someone who could be Peggy’s mom, her absence notable from all of the memories.

There’s a brief warning of footsteps coming down the steps before Richie appears around the corner, finding Eddie harmlessly sitting in the living room and not, say, snooping around his personal possessions.

“The beast is calmed for now,” he announces with a loud sigh, pushing a hand through his hair. “Sorry about that. I thought you knew about the dyslexia, even though she doesn’t really like to talk about it.”

“It wasn’t in her file. I normally find that stuff out from the parents if they provide it,” Eddie says on instinct, biting his lip when it comes out a little too harsh. “I just mean—”

“No, no, you’re totally right,” Richie waves a hand. “I know I’ve been kind of slacking on the parenting stuff, especially when it comes to school. I wasn’t a really good student myself, so I’m feeling a little bit at fault here.”

“Who,  _ you _ ? Richie  _ Trashmouth _ Tozier? I’m shocked,” Eddie says with a slight grin.

Richie returns the smile, shaking his head. “I know, I’m the paragon of a Type A, huh? Anyways, the tour is over in ten days, and then I’m back in town for the foreseeable future. I promise I’m not this shitty of a dad year round.”

“I don’t think you’re a shitty dad,” Eddie says insistently. Even if he likes poking fun at Richie as much as the man likes to get poked at, he still takes his job seriously. “It’s clear from tonight alone you’re even more present and there for your kid than most of the parents that I have to deal with.”

“Oh, good. And now I have something to brag about to the ladies at Pilates,” He sighs in relief, clutching his chest for a moment before dropping the bit. “Honestly, though, that’s the best thing I could hear right now. I constantly feel like I’m screwing up with her, especially when I’m out of town so much. I mean, I remember my parents being totally  _ checked out _ when I was a kid, and it definitely fucked me up in ways I still can’t get out in therapy. I don’t want to be that kind of dad, y’know?”

“All parents feel that way,” Eddie reassures him. “Trust me; You’re doing great.”

Richie’s smile is more genuine this time, lines creasing around the corners of his eyes. It fades as he gets to his feet, nodding his head towards the door. “Thanks for hanging around. Let me walk you out.”

Eddie follows Richie back through the house, trying to find an organic way to bring up Peggy’s mom (or the lack thereof), and failing miserably. It seems wrong to end his visit on a sour note, so he pushes it off for now. “Here,” he fishes a folded scrap of paper out of his pocket, handing it to Richie at the door. “Text your name to that number and it will sign you up for auto-texts from the school for any upcoming events. You’ll get a calendar invite and everything, so you can see if there’s anything we need chaperones or any other kind of help for. It may not be the most exciting thing in the world, but I think if you bring the same kind of energy you had at the auction to some other school functions where Peggy can see, it will give a positive impact on how she feels about school.”

Richie looks pleasantly surprised, immediately taking out his phone to sign up for the alerts. “Do you have any kids?” He asks without looking up.

“Yeah, twenty-six of them,” Eddie deadpans, earning another laugh. “No, I don’t have any kids.”

“But you like them.”

Eddie isn’t sure where he’s going with this. “Kids in general? Yeah, I do. You kind of have to when you teach them for a living.”

“Plenty of teachers don’t like kids but they’re still teachers. You could always tell which ones did and which ones didn’t,” Richie remarks, glancing up at him with a smile.

Eddie looks away, still lingering in the doorway. “Some might like kids in the beginning, but then are driven to madness by annoying little shits who shove pencils so far up their nose that an ambulance has to be called,” he says with a smirk.

The realization that he’s referencing Richie’s own comedy special back to him brings a bright smile to his face. “You watch my stand-up?”

“I may have thrown on one of your specials the other night while I was grading papers,” Eddie remarks elusively.

“And what did you think? Am I as funny and charming on your TV as I am in person?” Richie waggles his eyebrows.

“Eh, not really my thing, but I get the appeal,” he says as nonchalantly as possible as he brushes past. It’s not a  _ total _ lie, but there’s no reason to inflate the guy’s ego.

It doesn’t do much to temper the big, goofy grin on Richie’s face as he calls out to Eddie from the steps, “Wow, now that’s some glowing praise! Mind if I quote that on my next special?  _ ‘Richie Tozier: not really your thing, but you get the appeal!’ _ ”

Eddie rolls his eyes and doesn’t turn around. “Goodnight, Richie.”

“Goodnight, Mr. K! Let me know if you want some free tickets to my show!”

Eddie doesn’t bother with a reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you guys for all the kind comments and kudos on the last chapter!! I was very nervous to write and start posting this fic, so I'm glad there's some people out there who really like it!
> 
> I will try to update every 1-2 weeks moving forward! <3


	3. teacher, stop that screaming

Eighty degrees Fahrenheit in September is just unnatural, Eddie decides, wiping his brow with a clean rag. It’s a Saturday as any other, except instead of spending his morning at the gym or watching bad reality TV while grading worksheets in his air conditioned apartment, he’s being beaten down upon by the blistering sun from a cloudless sky. The parking lot is the bane of his existence in that moment, all the heat coalescing and sweltering him, the only relief being the endless supply of cold water he can occasionally splash his overheated face with.

Car wash fundraisers should’ve gone out of style after the wave of hyper-sexualized mid-2000s movie scenes in his humble opinion. If there’s anything the elites of The Hills love, it’s watching people do manual labor and getting a moral hole punch in their Good Deed Card for giving money to the less fortunate. Instead of taking their Benz through an automatic car wash, they’re giving ten-to-twenty bucks to fifth graders who won’t do nearly as good a job but are giving the proceeds to the charity of their choice.

The school decided to make it a bit of a competition between the homerooms, seeing who can raise the most money. Eddie’s pick, as it usually is, is for the LA LGBT+ Youth Shelter, but he knows that all of the choices are deserving of any of the funds they rake in. That still didn’t stop him from immediately nabbing the best location they had to choose from throughout the area.

Eddie reapplies his sunscreen for what feels like the tenth time that day, standing underneath the flimsy tent that’s set up in the unused lot. He’s sure to give the same treatment to all his students as well as the few parent volunteers he has to oversee the wash and properly direct drivers.

He’s in the middle of reminding little Juniper Feldman’s flighty mother that melanoma is no joke when he feels a cold jet of water hit him right in the center of his back. He nearly jumps out of his skin, hand immediately going to touch the now soaked back of his t-shirt as he whirls around in anger. “Peggy, I thought I said—!”

Eddie discovers his assailant isn’t the younger Tozier (who was taken off of hose duty twenty minutes ago due to this exact behavior), but is actually her father, clutching the nozzle of the hose in both hands, flashing him a grin. “Sorry, couldn’t resist. Are those shorts an OSHA violation?”

He gapes at Richie incredulously for a moment, feeling an added heat rise to his cheeks as he looks down at his shorts that stop just a few inches above the knee. He tugs at the bright red material self-consciously, not having thought much of his choice of attire this morning. These are his usual running shorts and while they may be a little more risqué than most of his attire at school, he was hardly going to show up to a car wash on a bright, sunny day in chinos and a button-down.

“I don’t think you know what an OSHA violation is,” Eddie replies, trying to keep the biting edge out of his tone while there’s still other parents within earshot who aren’t privy to what is an unfortunately developing working relationship he has with the comedian. He walks over to Richie, raising a hand to block the sun from his eyes. “What are you doing here? You weren’t on the list of volunteers.”

“I’m just here to support,” Richie says with a grin, the smile lines around his eyes deepening behind his dark-tinted sunglasses. Eddie looks past the other man’s shoulder, seeing the bright red Mustang parked nearby, being tended to by a small horde of children including his own daughter who’s currently blowing on the windows and drawing penises into the condensation. “Plus, it’s a great day to drive with the top down if you and those exposed quads would like to join me.”

Eddie sighs, knowing that hardly anything that comes out of Richie’s mouth should be taken seriously, but the flirtation is starting to become more bothersome than it is charming. “Have you been this borderline inappropriate with all of Peggy’s previous teachers?”

“Just you, Mr. K— Wait, borderline? Damn, I should be trying a lot harder, huh? I will admit, as enticing as they are, your  _ thighs _ weren’t the first thing I looked at when I caught those shorts across the parking lot—”

“Jesus, Richie,” Eddie hisses, gesturing wildly with a hand to cut him off. “Do you  _ have  _ an off button?”

“No,” he says as-a-matter-of-factly, still grinning away. “Seriously though, if my charms ever get to be too much, just say the word and I’ll somehow find a way to dampen my affections.”

“Would a restraining order work?” Eddie asks, crossing his arms and doing his best not to adjust his shorts again. Come to think of it, they do fit him a little more snugly than they used to…

Richie places a hand over his heart, “You wound me, truly.”

“Um, Mr. K?” One of the other parents approaches from behind, Eddie immediately turning his attention on them while praying Richie keeps anymore lewd comments in his head where they belong. It’s one of the dads, holding a neon poster board marked up with glitter and block letters to catch the eyes of drivers passing by and entice them to get a car wash for the low low price of $10. “Lincoln isn’t feeling too well because of the sun. He overheats really easily, so I think it might be best for me to go on ahead and get him home.”

Eddie can see Lincoln sitting on a curb nearby, ducked into the shadow of a nearby car as he wipes sweat from his face. “Yes, of course,” Eddie says in a rush. “Make sure he drinks lots of water and you get him out of any unnecessary clothes once he’s indoors—” He reaches over and yanks the hose from Richie’s grasp, glad he isn’t opposed, quickly trading it for the sign in the worried father’s hands. “Feel free to mist him with some cold water before you go, that should help.”

The man flashes a grateful smile, accepting it with a nod. “Thank you, Mr. K. You always know exactly what to do.”

Eddie doesn’t reply, just smiling politely as the man hurries over to tend to his flushed child. He contemplates going to check on the little boy himself, but he’s in capable enough hands.

“Well,” Richie says, Eddie turning back to him and trying to surmise where the man’s eyeline might’ve been while he had his back turned. “Looks like you’re down a volunteer. Think you could use some help?”

“I think we’ll be just fine,” Eddie retorts with narrowed eyes, gripping the sign tighter when Richie holds a hand out for it.

Richie pushes his sunglasses to rest on top of his head just in time for Eddie to catch an eye roll. “Come on, I’ll be great at getting some more people in here! Y’know, my first job was being a sign spinner at a pizza joint back in my hometown.” 

“They probably didn’t want you anywhere near food people would have to eat,” Eddie carps with an annoyed frown, allowing Richie to take the sign from him.

He gives it an experimental spin in his hands, doing the best he can with the flimsy board and even flimsier cardboard handle that’s glued to the back. “Well, technically I was a delivery driver first, but after I backed over a fire hydrant with the business car, they demoted me. I still got it, though!”

He tosses the sign up in the air, barely catching it and almost tripping over the hose running by their feet as he attempts to do so.

“Fine,” Eddie sighs deeply, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Pull your car aside when the kids are done with it. You can man the corner of Elmdale and La Salle.”

Richie raises two fingers in a salute, “Your wish is my command! And, hey, if you need any help lathering up with sunscreen, you know where to find me,” Richie departs with a wink.

Eddie rolls his eyes and does a quick glance around to make sure no one else overheard that conversation. He has little time to worry over his reputation as a very professional and not-at-all-playground-insult-hurling teacher, quickly called over by one of his students who isn’t quite sure how to tender the hundred dollar bill they were just handed by the heavily spray-tanned woman in the Prius.

* * *

The following month is the highly anticipated Oceanside Career Day, all of his students eager to brag about their parents illustrious careers, and the parents even moreso. The only thing Eddie likes about Career Day is that it’s a  _ privilege _ . Misbehaving students are not allowed to participate, which means Peggy is actually on her best behavior in the weeks leading up to the big day.

He wrangles his class when the bell rings, leading them to the courtyard and gym where he can already see the designated areas where the parents are stationed and waiting. “Everybody have their worksheets?” he calls the excitable group to attention, making sure all twenty-something pairs of eyes are trained on him. “Now, remember, you guys get to choose who you want to hear from today, and I want each of you to ask at least five questions to five different parents and be sure to record it on your worksheets. There’s a lot of parents who will be rotating in and out, but they’ll all be wearing a sign around their neck with their job written on it, and they’ll do a fifteen minute Q&A with their group. When you hear the whistle blow, it’ll be time to switch, and you’ll move onto your next presenter. You’ll all come right back to this spot to meet me when it’s time for lunch, okay?” The kids take that as their cue to disperse, running towards the colored flags indicating where the parents are stationed. “Remember to be polite when asking questions! And thank the parents for taking time out of their busy schedules to speak with you today!” He calls out after them, voice lost in the frenzy of excitement.

Now is the easy part, Eddie simply making his rounds in case there are any emergencies. Time to let all the Hollywood big-shots deal with hordes of unruly ten-and-youngers. Every year, Eddie hopes the groups of parents who are able to make it will be a little more diverse, but unfortunately, the demographic tends to skew towards entertainment-based. He’s sure the kids care less about hearing from doctors or accountants, and would rather find out what kind of food is served at craft services on the Warner Brothers lot. Eddie finds a lot of value in the arts, but sometimes he worries about the bubble most of his students seem to grow up in when it comes to what will go on if they one day grow up and venture outside of the City of Angels.

Oh, well. If he wanted to make that a professional worry, he would’ve taught high school.

About an hour in, Eddie heads into the gym to get himself some water, smiling politely at a small group of women huddled near the cooler, leaning against the gym doors as they peer inside.

“You guys are insane. Either that, or your standards have plummeted.”

“Oh,  _ come on _ . Conventionally attractive is  _ so _ overrated these days.”

“I don’t know, I just don’t see it. I mean, look at what he’s  _ wearing _ . His whole vibe is off.”

“Yeah, but he’s totally  _ hot _ in, like, a burnout, stoner sort of way, you know? And at least he’s not a try-hard like the rest of the chiseled jaw playboys in this town.”

“Plus, he’s funny. Everyone knows funny guys make the best partners.”

“Most importantly, he’s funny  _ and _ successful. His net worth has skyrocketed since the latest season of his show.”

“And, I mean, look at how good he’s being with the kids! You could use a man like that in your life after Ted left you…”

The inane gossip is enough to get Eddie to lift his gaze, following the women’s eyeline to see the object of their praise and criticism, already having a pretty good guess as to who it could be.

Because,  _ of course _ , it’s Richie.

“If you don’t go for him,  _ I _ certainly will,” says one of the moms, twirling an extension around a well-manicured finger. The same one who referred to him as  _ ‘hot in a burnout, stoner sort of way’  _ and was sure to comment on his net worth.

“Oh, Trina, sick of your pool boy already?” One of the other moms asks, the pack of them tittering as she walks away from them casually making her rounds and greeting a few of the other parents as she closes in on where Richie is standing.

Eddie rolls his eyes and walks away from them altogether, not needing to hear anymore. He convinces himself that the pricking sensation on the back of his neck comes from his annoyance at the superficial chattering, and has absolutely nothing to do with the specifics as to who it is the desperate ex-housewives are lusting after.

Still, his gaze can’t help but be drawn towards the side of the gym Richie is at, sitting casually on the bleachers as he talks to the rotating groups of kids. Eddie has to admit that he does seem to fit right in, looking relaxed as he cracks jokes and makes faces, all the kids giggling and hanging onto every word for dear life. He catches Peggy sneaking into her dad’s audience more than once despite their instructions to diversify in who they listen to, but he lets it slide.

After a few more whistle blows, Richie steps down from the bleachers to take his break, the supposed  _ Trina _ taking that as an opportunity to pounce on her prey. Not only her, but a few of the other parents start to converge as well, all vying for the comedian’s attention. Eddie continues to make his rounds, that irritating sensation traveling to his chest every time he happens to glance over and see a sight he’s plenty familiar with: Richie Tozier  _ flirting _ .

It shouldn’t bother him— It  _ doesn’t _ bother him. It’s not as if his crooked grins and casual winks and endearing body language is  _ reserved _ for Eddie. He knows it’s all fake anyways. Which is why it  _ doesn’t _ bother him.

It doesn’t.

The bell finally rings, putting Eddie out of his misery of having to watch a bunch of forty-somethings pretending to be a thirty-somethings throw themselves at Richie. He corrals his children and escorts them to the cafeteria before making his way back to the gym to help clean up.

“Want some help with that?” Richie asks from behind him as he attempts to drag a folding table back into the storage room.

Eddie sighs and glances over his shoulder. “I don’t know, I’d hate to tear you away from all those horny, single moms.”

_ Fuck, Eddie, why would you say that? _

Richie laughs loudly, pulling his hands out of his pockets as he walks around to get in front of Eddie, picking up the other end of the table and easily walking backwards with it. “You know, Eds, if I were a smart man, I might think you sound a little jealous.”

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie responds automatically, the familiarity stinging more than it should. “And, please, I am not  _ jealous _ . I just think that there’s a time and place for shameless flirting, and I don’t think in front of your daughter and a bunch of other children is the place to do it.”

“Oh yeah?” Richie grins, raising his eyebrows. “Pray tell, when and where  _ is _ the time and place for that? And follow up question: When can you and I go there?”

Eddie walks a little more forcefully with the table, shoving it into Richie’s stomach as they come to a stop inside the storage room. “Do those lines usually work for you?” He asks, quickly turning and striding back out.

Richie breaks into a jog to keep up, matching Eddie’s pace. “Don’t worry, Baby, I only have eyes for one person, and it wouldn’t be any of those Bachelorette rejects.”

Eddie stares straight ahead, ignoring his presence completely as he tucks as many folding chairs as he can fit under his arms to haul away to the storage closet. “I think we need to have a discussion about professional boundaries, Mr. Tozier.”

“Oof,  _ Mr. Tozier _ ,” Richie echoes with a wounded expression, clutching at his heart. “You really know how to hit a guy where it hurts.”

“Thanks, I try,” Eddie deadpans as Richie continues to trail after him, at least being helpful enough to grab a few chairs. “I’m being serious, though. You’re going to get into big trouble if you keep talking to people like that. At least  _ I _ know you’re just messing around. Any other teacher with a sound mind would’ve reported you already.”

“Hey now, I’m nothing like all those old fucks who deserve to be taken down by _Me Too_ ,” Richie drops the chairs off and stands in front of Eddie, suddenly serious. “I’m sorry, okay? I put my foot in my mouth way more than I should, and my brain doesn’t know how to function around someone I’m  _ actually _ attracted to so I end up aggressively flirting until they tell me to buzz off.”

Eddie does his best not to linger on the somewhat heartfelt confession, feeling his ears go pink. “Yeah, well… I’m sorry if I didn’t put up better boundaries. I think that accepting your dinner invitation didn’t help with professionalism.” _And for some reason I talk to you in ways I would never talk to any other parent,_ he doesn’t dare voice aloud. He straightens up after setting down the chairs, sticking his hand out. “I appreciate all the effort you’re going to for your daughter. She’s doing better, but I still think she has a long way to go, and the best thing we can do for her is get along. Also, I don’t date parents of my students, so this is me officially telling you to buzz off in that sense.”

Richie grins and immediately claps their hands together, giving Eddie’s a firm shake. “Noted. I solemnly swear that I will do my best to reign in any and all inappropriate thoughts I have about you, even when you’re wearing tight nylon shorts that should be banned in all public areas.”

Eddie sighs and drops his hand. “I guess that’s the best we’re gonna get out of you.”

He throws away those running shorts the moment he gets home.

* * *

“Alright, you are all done!” Audra exclaims with a grin, holding up a hand mirror for Eddie to see. “What do you think?”

“Holy shit,” Eddie blinks, resisting the urge to touch his face. He’s completely grotesque. His complexion is a sickly gray-green with purple and red blotching around the torn flesh effects across his face. “Bill said you were good, but I didn’t know you were  _ this _ good— no offense.”

“None taken, I’m still pretty amateur when it comes to these ladies,” she laughs and gestures towards the other make-up artists currently working on the rest of the faculty. “I’ve been practicing the past couple years after being on the opposite end of it for so long.”

“I’m just glad you guys were willing to come and help out,” Eddie gets out of the chair, fixing his nurse’s scrubs. “When is Mr. Bowie arriving?”

“He should be on his way now,” she says, pushing her ball gown sleeve up to check her watch. Her costume is impeccable, the two of them dressing up as Jareth and Sarah from Labyrinth. Eddie wouldn’t be surprised if they had enough pull to get the actual costumes used in the movie. “Thanks again for including us in this. You know how he gets around this time of year,” she says with a sad smile.

Eddie presses his lips together and nods. He and Bill have been best friends since childhood. He remembers how long it took him to recover after his little brother went missing all those years ago. “Of course, anything to help get his mind off things. Plus, we’re honored to have both of your expertise in the world of horror. Our Trunk-or-Treats have been so bland the last couple of years, figured it was time to really go for it.”

And go for it they did. With October coming to a close, Oceanside prepped their annual Trunk-or-Treat in the parking lot, recently improved with some more volunteers. They got all kinds of donations of decorations and props for their haunted maze set up throughout the school building, a lot of it coming from people like Bill and Audra, as well as some other parents who work in the film industry and have their thumb on the horror pulse.

With Halloween falling on a school night this year, his lesson plan for tomorrow already accounts for the sleep-deprived, sugar-comatose children that will be seated at their desks. He’s had fun Halloween activities planned all week, and only had to chastise Peggy once for carving something vulgar into her pumpkin.

As an adult, Eddie loves Halloween for purely selfish reasons. He never once got to trick-or-treat as a kid, his mother refusing to let him out of the house on a night where there could be any kind of sickos and murderers roaming the streets, preying on children. Not to mention, all of the razor blades that the elders of Derry were most certainly hiding in the candy they were handing out. He snuck out once to meet up with Bill and some of their other friends, but despite wearing a bedsheet with holes cut out for the eyes, one of the other parents spotted him out and about and immediately phoned Sonia to come and haul him home in the station wagon.

The school had some restrictions on his initial proposal for how to ramp up the Halloween experience this year, so they didn’t go too scary or too gorey. The problem is, these days even young kids are pretty desensitized to this sort of thing, and Los Angeles as a whole is notorious for going all out on the holiday. They’ve got the staff all dressed up with full SFX make-up courtesy of Audra and her professional MUA friends, and they’ll be working as the “scare-actors” hiding all throughout the school for any kids who are brave enough to make their way through. For the fainter-of-heart, there’s regular trunk-or-treating available out in the parking lot, both parents and plenty of local businesses there to hand out candy.

Eddie heads out to his car with Audra just as Bill arrives, posing in his perfectly flamboyant costume, crystal ball in hand. Together they fix up the bed of Bill’s Labyrinth-themed truck, as well as the imitation of a nurse’s office that’s decorating Eddie’s own hatchback, coordinated to his costume. Kids are already beginning to arrive in the late afternoon, going from car to car in their colorful and creative costumes, anxiously lining up outside the school doors to be escorted inside to experience the scares awaiting them.

“Hey, is that Richie Tozier?” Audra suddenly asks from beside him.

Eddie holds out his candy bowl to a few second grader-sized Power Rangers, following her eyeline. It takes a second for him to fully figure out where he is, embarrassed that the defining trait he recognizes is the width of his shoulders underneath the torn up flannel. He’s not wearing his glasses for once, and his face is painted to look like a werewolf, fake fur peeking out from the unbuttoned shirt and rolled up sleeves.

“Uh, yeah, that’s him,” Eddie confirms, glancing over to her. “Why, do you know him?”

“Not personally, but he seems familiar...” She furrows her brow in thought. “Oh, I remember now. I used to see him a lot when he stopped by the set of a movie I worked on with his wife.”

“His wife?” Eddie can’t help but press. He still has yet to snoop around on the internet for any info about Peggy’s mom, feeling like he would be breaching a certain level of privacy that celebrities like Richie normally aren’t given.

“Well, ex-wife, I guess. Actually, I’m not sure if they were ever married at all? I don’t know, they used to argue in her trailer all the time,” She shrugs, the details clearly not meaning much to her. “I wouldn’t normally pick him out of a crowd, but I swear, he’s walked by like ten times now.”

Eddie presses his lips together, not knowing how to respond to that. He watches Richie for a moment longer, eventually making eye contact. Richie’s eyes dart away with uncertainty, returning when Eddie raises his hand in a wave. See? He can be friendly.

Richie smiles back, exposing the fake fangs glued to his canines. He takes Peggy’s hand when she returns to his side, leading her over towards Eddie’s car.

“Nurse who treated the patient zero of the zombie outbreak?” Richie guesses, pointing to Eddie’s get up.

He smiles, pleasantly surprised that Richie got the entire concept and didn’t just think he was a “zombie doctor”. There  _ is _ a difference, dammit, and male nurses deserve to be more normalized. “Good observational skills,” he commends, looking down to Peggy at his side. She’s wearing a blood-stained dress and boots, with a bright crimson hooded cloak overtop and a plastic axe in hand. “Little Red Riding Huntress and the Big Bad Dad?”

Peggy actually smiles at him, and it might be the first time that’s happened without any mischievous intent following. “We have fake guts at home that are gonna spill out of Dad’s shirt, but Bev said it was  _ ‘inappropriate for school’ _ ,” she complains with air quotes and an eye roll.

“Well, we’d hate to have to send you home without any candy, right?” Eddie holds out the bowl of candy, boxes of bandaids, and those little pens that look like syringes. Peggy takes two big fistfuls and shoves them into her Trader Joe’s tote bag, immediately running to Audra and Bill’s truck next door to collect more riches.

Richie stands around for a moment, not following after her just yet. Eddie realizes that, for once, the Trashmouth isn’t sure of what to say. He holds out the candy bowl towards him as a peace offering. “I know you want some too.”

Richie grins and immediately plucks out a package of Skittles. “Wanna know my secret superpower? I can guess anyone’s favorite Halloween candy.”

Eddie scoffs. “Yeah? Alright, let’s hear it.”

Richie squints at him for a moment, looking him up and down before he hums to himself and closes his eyes, lifting two fingers to a temple. “Ah, a difficult one… pretty picky…” His face screws up in concentration for another few seconds before he opens his eyes. “Baby Ruth.”

Eddie can’t conceal his surprise, mouth falling open. “How did you—”

“Told you it was my super power!” Richie laughs and struggles to open his skittles with the fake wolf hands. “Got any plans after this?”

“Not really. I mean, there’s not a ton of kids in my building, but I’ll leave out any leftover candy from here— God, could you be anymore helpless?” Eddie reaches over in exasperation and takes the candy from him, ripping a big enough tear in the package before handing it back.

Richie holds the candy between his hands in prayer and gives Eddie a deep bow. “I am indebted to you,” he straightens up with a grin and tilts his head back, immediately pouring half the pack into his mouth before attempting to speak around his cheekfuls of candy. “Well, you should come over to my house after. My neighborhood goes crazy with all the decorations and stuff, and Bev and her fiancé are setting things up now. We’ve got an entire haunted woods getting set up in my front lawn, should be preeeetty rad.”

“As tempting as that sounds, I’ll probably be here for most of the night cleaning up,” Eddie says, not wanting it to sound like too much of an excuse. (Even though it totally is, because  _ boundaries _ , Tozier.)

“Well, we’ll probably be up pretty late. It’s that rascal’s favorite holiday,” he points over to where Peggy is now chasing a group of giggling third graders with her axe while parents look on with disapproval. “How has she been doing, by the way? In your class.”

“Better,” Eddie hedges. “I think we should try and reopen the discussion of tutoring outside of class, though… her grades are alright, but I can tell she’s struggling to keep up with the pace of everyone else.”

“I’ve been trying to help her with her homework, but she just locks herself in her room and says she’d rather do it on her own,” Richie sighs, scratching the back of his head. “I’ll see if maybe Bev can get through to her. Sometimes she just wants nothing to do with her dear old dad, y’know?”

“What about her mom?” Eddie blurts out before he can stop himself. He blames Audra for putting the idea in his head at all.

Richie doesn’t give anything away with his expression, blinking at Eddie and opening his mouth to say something before Peggy runs up in a flash of scarlet.

“Dad, Dad, come on! Jaren and Berm wanna go in the maze together! Jaren’s mom might even cry!” She whacks at his knees with her rubber axe, tugging on his sleeve.

“Alright, alright,” Richie stumbles sideways, letting the child drag him off. He flashes an apologetic look, but Eddie feels just as grateful for the interruption of his unfortunate foot-in-mouth syndrome. “Feel free to swing by if you find yourself needing a scare!” he calls out, wiggles his hairy, elongated, rubber fingers as he’s dragged away. Eddie watches him go, smiling to himself when Richie scoops his daughter up in his arms and lets out a howl that garners some side-eyes from nearby parents.

He glances over to see Bill staring at him with an odd expression, quickly busying himself with the candy bowl in his arms. “What?”

“Nothing,” Bill smirks. “It’s just been a while since I’ve seen you with a crush. It’s cute.”

“On Richie?” Eddie scoffs. “I don’t think you’ve ever been more wrong, Bill.”

The knowing smile doesn’t go away, but Bill holds up his hands in surrender. “Whatever you say, man.”

Eddie is saved by candy-mongering children for the second time that evening, left flustered by Bill’s observation when a flock of his own students come up to his car. It luckily isn’t brought up again, and he doesn’t see Richie anymore that evening after he and Peggy disappeared into the school.

Eddie is one of the last to leave, washing the face paint off in the teacher’s lounge sink after finishing his cobweb removal duties. He waves to his fellow faculty on his way out, glancing at his watch. It’s not too late, and a part of him wonders if it would be the absolute worst idea in the world to actually head over to Richie’s house. It would purely be for his love of the holiday, and has nothing to do with the man who invited him.

“Fuck you, Bill,” Eddie sighs under his breath, shaking his head as he digs his car keys out of the pockets of his scrubs. He comes to a sudden stop when he sees something sitting on the hood of his car. Wary of a possible prank from his students, he glances around the parking lot and sees no sign of anything like this left on any of the other teachers’ cars. He approaches slowly with his phone flashlight on, now able to see the object is an orange, plastic pumpkin… and it’s full of Baby Ruths.

Eddie scoffs in disbelief, picking up the folded piece of paper sitting on top of the overflowing candy bucket.

_ Richie insisted I do this, and I just need you to know I had to go to three different CVSes just to find the King Sized versions of this awful candy, which Richie also insisted on because “regular size isn’t good enough”. I don’t know if this is supposed to be some kind of bribe for Peggy’s grades, or an apology for saying something super inappropriate. If it’s the latter, I offer my condolences and encourage you to let me know if you’d like compensation not in the form of these terrible, oversized candy bars. _

_ Happy Halloween. _

— _ Bev _

Eddie bites down on his smile and grabs the candy bucket by the handle, hauling it into his passenger seat. He eats three on the way home, hands out a few more to any passing trick-or-treaters as he heads up his building’s stairwell, and stashes the rest in the cabinets above the fridge so he’ll be less tempted to go for them in the middle of the night.

_ Thanks for the diabetes. It’s going to take me until next Halloween to get through these _ , he texts to Richie before he can think better of it.

He gets the reply after he’s changed out of his scrubs and into his pajamas, settled onto his couch with a beer in hand and Hocus Pocus on his TV.

_ Did the razor blades go down easy? I told Bev to get the sharpest ones she could find. _

Eddie exhales sharply out his nose and locks his phone, tossing it aside to keep himself from doing something regrettable. He’d hate to encourage the Trashmouth, even if he finds himself smiling at the thought.

Yeah, Bill was  _ way  _ off.


	4. teacher, don't you see?

Eddie tries not to have too many regrets in his adult life, and if he does, he refuses to admit them and does his best to move past it.

He can happily say he regrets telling Richie to get more involved in school events.

Yes, of course, it benefits Peggy, which is what matters in the grand scheme of things, but Eddie still selfishly wishes Richie had just been the work-addled, distant, entertainer father he was originally expecting before the homemade dinners and ridiculous gestures.

He shouldn’t be surprised to see that Richie has signed up as a chaperone for their next field trip, falling just a couple of weeks after Halloween. It’s the peak of Fall, as “Fall” as Los Angeles can get. They’re just a couple of weeks away from Thanksgiving, the kids excited for the break while Eddie dreads the time off.

He wishes he could join in with the kid’s enthusiasm, but Thanksgiving Break means his annual trip back to Derry.

The morning of the field trip happens to also be the morning he had an hour long phone call with his mother where he had to confirm time and time again that yes, he’s purchased his flight back home. So maybe he’s in a bad mood when he shows up to the school parking lot, jumbo travel mug of coffee clenched in hand, and maybe that bad mood is very evident on his face.

“Whoa, who pissed in your oatmeal this morning?” Richie greets him by the busses, Peggy rushing past to join her friends.

“Can you not talk like that in front of the kids?” Eddie snaps in annoyance, looking around them to make sure no one heard. “Don’t think I won’t have the Principal bar you from coming to anymore school events if you’re not going to behave yourself.”

“Aw, you wouldn’t deprive yourself of seeing my lovely face at six a.m. though, would you?” Richie places his hands underneath his chin and bares his teeth in his worst pageant smile.

Eddie rolls his eyes and walks away, pulling his school-issued tablet out of his bag to take roll call and make sure permission slips have been properly turned in. He counts heads before and after the bus, making sure all kids are accounted for before he takes his seat behind the driver.

Much to his annoyance, Richie boards the bus with the rest of the parents and immediately claims the seat beside Eddie before his fellow teacher Ms. Windham can. Eddie pointedly ignores Richie as the bus pulls away from the school, scrolling through the itinerary for the day and occasionally refreshing his email inbox just to look like he has something to do.

With half of his coffee guzzled down and an entire twenty minutes of a completely silent Richie Tozier next to him, Eddie feels the sharper edges of his frustration begin to smooth themselves out. He chances a quick look out of the corner of his eye, having effectively blocked Richie out of his periphery despite their closeness. School bus seats allow nearly no room between two adult men, their thighs and arms intermittently brushing and resting against each other throughout the ride. He now sees that Richie has a small notebook held in one hand, the other scrawling furious and sporadic notes down onto the pages, filling them quickly.

Eddie pointedly puts the cover back on his tablet and rests it in his lap, pretending to stare out the window for a moment before he glances over to Richie. “What are you writing?”

“The ice queen speaks!” Richie grins, not looking up from his book. He finishes another line of chicken scratch, flipping to a new, clear page. “Just some ideas rattling around in my brain that I’m trying to make sense of. Jokes and things.”

“For your show or stand-up?” Eddie asks, finding himself genuinely curious rather than just attempting to force small talk.

“Both, I guess?” Richie frowns for a second, scribbling down another sentence before crossing it out and snapping the notebook shut.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Eddie says, looking at the cover of the notebook. He almost expects some stupid saying to be emblazoned across it, but it’s just a simple, black leather cover with a little strawberry sticker peeling off of the corner.

Richie waves his hand, reclining the best he can in the cramped space, knees folded in at an uncomfortable angle. Eddie suddenly loses any height envy he sometimes has around the six-foot-whatever man. “Nah, the inspiration comes and goes, and it’s officially gone,” he turns his body slightly to face Eddie, eyebrows raised. “Besides, I’d rather talk to you about what had you so sour this morning.”

Eddie looks down at his hands folded in his laps, brow furrowed. “It’s nothing. Family stuff.”

“Dad?” Richie guesses.

“Mom,” Eddie corrects.

“Ah, Mommy issues. I should’ve known,” Richie taps his chin thoughtfully. “She harassing you about  _ gettin’ married and givin’ her some grandbabies? _ ”

“First of all, I don’t have a Southern accent, so why on earth would my mother?” Eddie scoffs at what he supposes is Richie’s impression of his mom. “She finally let that one go a few years ago. Only took half my life of reminding her of how gay I am.”

Eddie doesn’t have time to linger on the fact that he’s officially confirmed his sexuality to Richie, only because Richie doesn’t linger on it either. “Good for you, man. Here I thought having that little booger out of wedlock would have my parents officially kick me out of their lives, but as long as they get to see her it’s like I hung the fu— Freaking moon. I drop her off at their Florida timeshare for a month during Summer break and it excuses the fact that they’re sure their son is out prowling for twinks in WeHo.”

“Just because it’s not a swear word doesn’t mean you should say things like  _ twinks  _ in front of the kids,” Eddie says, careful to lower his voice, even with the din of sixty-plus rowdy kids on the bus who are paying them no mind.

“Oh, please, they don’t know what it means,” Richie rolls his eyes.

“I don’t know, I’m pretty sure I heard one of them refer to themselves as a Top because they won a game of Kickball the other day.”

“Kids are so weird,” Richie laughs, pulling out his notebook.

“Yeah.”

Eddie lets silence fall between them again as Richie fills another couple of pages with a sudden burst of inspiration. He turns to his own thoughts, staring out the window to watch the city grow smaller from the 405. 

Peggy was born out of wedlock. So Richie was never married. Not that it interests him in the slightest. For a brief moment he wonders if there’s an organic way to segue back to that point, continue the conversation that had been interrupted on Halloween, but he quickly gives up on the idea. They’ve only just now made up for Eddie’s unwarranted hostility from this morning, and there’s no need to ruin what’s going to be a very long day together.

The bus ride is about an hour, headed north just past Santa Clarita to the Sleepy Valley Farm, home of a huge cider mill, pumpkin patch, and corn maze. Eddie rallies the kids’ attentions before they depart from the bus, making sure to point out the other teachers and chaperones wearing their neon badges so that they can be easily identified. They’re broken into groups to go around and experience all the Autumnal festivities that the ranch has to offer, Eddie helming one of the groups with Richie and another parent to assist him.

The kids are on their best behavior for the most part, even Peggy falling into line. Begrudgingly, he owes that in part to Richie who’s able to keep the kids entertained and less inclined to roughhouse during the hay ride or wander off as they’re set loose to pick pumpkins to decorate and bring home to their parents. The various arts and crafts offered goes over well with the kids, Eddie leveling a glare on a group of boys who try to make their wax-dipped hands have their middle fingers up, the kids quickly discarding their attempts to be melted back down in the vat. Richie whispers into his ear at one point about whether or not he could make a wax casting of his dick in the privacy of his own home, which earns him Eddie’s elbow straight into his rib cage.

Their students have free reign once it’s time for the corn maze, Eddie checking over every kid before they enter to make sure they have their flags to raise up in the air if they ever get too lost so that one of the ranch assistants can come and retrieve them.

“Alright, Eds, you ready to brave this thing together?” Richie asks once all the kids have been sent through the various entrances.

“I’m actually just going to wait by the exit just to make sure all the kids get through safely,” Eddie deflects, already pulling out his role call so he can tick off the kids as they come out.

Richie blows a loud raspberry at him. “Oh, come on, you’re allowed to have fun on the field trips too, y’know.”

Eddie looks at him tiredly. “This is still  _ work _ , Richie, so no, I’m not here for fun. You have the same job as I do, remember? Looking after the kids?”

“What, are you afraid you’re going to get lost? It’s a maze made for kids, we can probably get through in like, ten minutes tops.”

“You clearly didn’t read the safety instructions, because it has an average time of thirty minutes to get through,” Eddie replies loftily.

Richie waves a hand at him. “Yeah, but you and I are  _ so  _ above average. We can totally speed run this thing,” he steps to the side as another group of children not part of their trip come barreling through, shoving at each other and racing to start finding their way through the stalks. “Come on, if it starts to take too long I’ll let you climb on my shoulders to cheat,” he offers with a grin, extending a hand. “What do you say?”

Eddie sighs and lifts his chin resolutely, striding right past Richie’s extended hand and into the maze. “Fine, we’ll go through, but I am  _ not  _ cheating.”

“I do love a loyal man,” Richie sighs dreamily behind him, although Eddie’s not sure he was meant to hear it. “You know the trick to these things, right?”

“What, that hug the wall and keep going thing?” Eddie asks skeptically, coming to a halt when they reach their first three way split. He watches as Richie sticks his right hand out and drags it along the stalks, taking their first right turn, and then another. Eddie follows his lead dutifully, arms crossed. “Sure, that will get us out  _ eventually _ , but I thought the goal was speed.”

“Oh, it is. And now,” Richie turns to grin at him, taking a few steps back. “It’s a race.”

And with that, he takes off at full tilt, disappearing around the corner.

“Richie!” Eddie calls out in annoyance. “What happened to braving it together?!”

“See you on the other side!” he hears distantly, watching a few stalks get rustled as Richie fumbles his way further into the maze.

Eddie sighs and turns on his heel, walking right back the way they came. If Richie was just going to ditch him, he’ll just go right back the way they came and walk around to the other side.

That is… if the way they came didn’t somehow turn into a dead end.

Eddie stares in disbelief at the wall of corn, turning a few times. They had barely even entered the maze, only took a couple of turns… did he really lose track that quickly? He attempts to make his way back towards what he thinks is the front of the maze, only to find the path stretching on further and further.

Fine, he’ll just make it through on his own. Who needs Richie Tozier anyway?

Eddie begrudgingly plods along, doing his best not to look too sour as he passes by some kids and parents all laughing together as they try to find their way out. “Hey, Mr. K!” a few shout as they run by, all giggling and chasing each other through the rows of corn.

About ten minutes in, he’s annoyed he no longer has Richie to rely on. Not so much Richie, but more his six-foot-however-many-inches he has to probably just jump a few times and be able to see over the tops of the corn, at least to gauge if they were anywhere near the exits or not. No, his company would surely just make this process even more gruelling.

He attempts to stick towards the outer wall, hitting dead end after dead end and having to retrace his steps too many times to count. Rounding a corner, he comes to a stop when he sees a child sitting on the ground, nestled back against the corn and picking at the hanging leaves, looking completely downtrodden.

“Peggy?” Eddie approaches her, surprised to see her all alone. During the entire trip so far, she’s been in her usual little pack, jokes and funny voices always popular with the rest of the kids. “Hey, what’s going on? You could’ve raised your flag if you got lost.”

“I’m not  _ lost _ ,” she mutters, tearing another leaf off the stalk and crumbling it in her hands.

“Okay then,” Eddie kneels down next to her, gently uncurling her fists and brushing the dried up plant remnants away. “What’s going on?”

She doesn’t answer him at first, chin tucked against her chest with her lower lip in full pout. “Nothing,” she mumbles.

Eddie shifts uncomfortably. If this were any of his other students, he’d know exactly how to pick them up and lift their spirits, but Peggy remains a very special case. “Would you like me to wait with you until you’re ready to leave?”

“No, go on ahead. Just like everyone else,” she sniffs.

_ Just like everyone else _ . Eddie’s frown deepens and he sits fully on the ground, unconcerned with the amount of dirt and grass that’s going to cling to his khakis after he gets up. “Were some of the other kids being mean to you?” he probes gently. Peggy pulls her knees closer to her chest and doesn’t answer. “You don’t have to tell me who it was, I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Peggy is quiet for another few moments. She opens her mouth and clamps it shut quickly as a teenage couple rounds the corner, walking past them with no mind. She waits to make sure no one else is going to come through before speaking. “Am I going to be held back?” she asks in a tiny voice, picking at a loose thread on her leggings.

“What?” Eddie asks, genuinely startled by the question. “What would make you think that?”

“Because I’m stupid,” she says as if it should be obvious.

“You’re not stupid,” Eddie refutes. “Did anyone say that to you, Peggy?”

She puffs out her cheeks for a moment but elects to continue glaring at her shoes rather than answer.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Eddie says definitively, getting to his feet. “But I am kind of in a race to beat your dad out of this maze, so imagine the look on his face if we both make it out before him,” He smiles down at her and offers a hand.

The prospect of one-upping her dad is enough to make even a sullen Peggy grin and let Eddie pull her to her feet. Surprisingly, she takes the lead, leaving Eddie to follow a couple steps behind. She'll occasionally pause at a crossroad, looking down both pathways for a moment of consideration before choosing one. They’ll be halfway down a branch when Peggy suddenly balks, pausing for a moment before deciding it’s time to turn back. Eddie quickly realizes that they have yet to run into a dead end.

“How are you doing this?” Eddie asks as they continue through the maze with little interruption or hassle.

“I dunno, I just… listen, I guess” Peggy says with a shrug.

“To… the corn?” Eddie asks, running his hand along the stalks.

“No, the  _ people _ ,” she snorts as if that should be explanation enough.

Eddie doesn’t question her any further, and before he knows it, they’re walking out of the exit. He glances around and doesn’t see Richie anywhere in sight, turning back to look at Peggy in amazement. “Peggy, that was  _ incredible _ .”

She turns back to him, making a face at the praise. “It’s just a stupid maze.”

“No, no,” he insists, leading her over to sit on one of the nearby hay bales. “It’s more than that. There are all sorts of ways to tackle a maze, but most people just wander through aimlessly until they get lucky, or they hug one wall the entire way through and just take every dead end as it comes. You did something completely different though, and it  _ worked _ .”

Her nose crinkles up, dark eyes suspicious as she looks over at him. “Your point?”

“Peggy, what I’m trying to say is that there’s no one  _ right _ way to learn. You found a solution to the problem that worked for you, and you can apply that to everything else. What some people see as a weakness can always be made into a strength if you work at it enough.”

Her frown begins to fade, but her brows remain drawn in a skeptical line. “What if I’m not smart enough to work at it?”

Eddie smiles at her sympathetically. “You’ll never know if you don’t try… Have you thought about maybe working with a tutor for your… issues with reading?” He asks, treading carefully. “I think it could really help.”

“No it won’t,” she argues without energy, shoulders hunched forward as she draws her legs close to her again, defensive. “I’ll probably still fail the big test before Thanksgiving and then I’m gonna get held back and I’ll have no friends and be a  _ loser _ .”

Ah, so there it is. There’s two standardized tests per year, and Eddie has yet to loathe them any less. Sure, they’re put in place to help rank schools in the district, hold accountability for teachers, and better the students’ curriculum, but he just wishes there were an easier way to go about it that didn’t put so much unnecessary stress on  _ children  _ for Pete’s sake. Filling in a bunch of bubbles on a sheet shouldn’t be the make or break factor to determine the capabilities of the students or the educators.

“Firstly, you’re not going to get held back. I’ve never let a single student I’ve taught get held back, and I don’t plan on starting now,” he tells her evenly. “Secondly, all I need to do is submit a little paperwork and talk to the Principal, and we can get some additional time and some special tools to help you during testing—”

“I don’t  _ want _ special tools,” Peggy argues. “I don’t want the other kids to know I’m different.”

“Then we don’t have to do any of that,” Eddie holds up his hands immediately, not wanting to upset her. “It’s just an  _ option _ — also, being different isn’t a bad thing, no matter what the other kids might say. And thirdly, being a  _ loser _ isn’t the worst thing in the world. I mean, look at your dad; He has a whole special about growing up as a self-proclaimed loser and he turned out great.”

“I don’t watch my dad’s stand-up.”

“Really?” Eddie should be relieved that Peggy hasn’t seen something so vulgar, but it’s not like she doesn’t hear far worse what with the real, unfiltered Richie Tozier raising her.

“Yeah, he’s embarrassing enough now. It’d get so much worse if he knew I watched his stuff,” she says with a roll of her eyes.

Eddie laughs, shaking his head. “Fair enough.” They sit in silence for a few moments, Eddie watching people reunite outside of the exit, ribbing each other on how quickly or slowly they made their way through. “One last thing,” he adds. “You  _ are _ smart enough to work at it. You just need to be willing to let people help you. Me, your dad, Bev… we’re all on your side.”

He sees a lot of Richie in her when she turns to look at him with slightly widened eyes, an unexpected smile spreading across her face.

“Oh, dammit!” Richie suddenly cries, both of them turning to see him walking out of the maze, nibbling on a piece of unripe corn he probably plucked straight from the maze _ despite the clear instructions not to do so _ . He displays an exaggerated flinch and hand to his mouth when the outburst garners a few glares from nearby parents. “I mean…  _ Darn it _ !” He corrects loudly, smiling around him as children are ushered away with an adult’s hands over their ears.

Eddie can’t help but laugh.

“Betrayed by my own kin!” He declares dramatically, grinning and opening his arms when Peggy clambers off of the hay bale and immediately runs up for a hug.

Eddie gets up as well, walking over to them with crossed arms. “Hey, you’re the one who went rogue. I decided to enlist the help of the little maze genius here and we got out in record time.”

Peggy makes eye contact, not quite trusting him enough yet to return his smile, but she doesn’t roll her eyes or make any gagging sounds, so it’s progress.

“We’ll discuss your trial for treason later,” Richie says to his daughter, ruffling her curls. “That maze has got me parched. Eds, wanna come grab some cider?”

He almost agrees and doesn’t even get annoyed at the unsolicited use of the nickname, but then remembers his other obligations. “I should make sure the rest of the group makes it out okay. I’ll see you guys over there.”

Peggy takes that as her cue to bolt away, making a mad dash for the cider and apple stands. Richie flashes a quick smile over his shoulder, “Thanks for looking after her.”

“Anytime,” Eddie waves as Richie jogs after his daughter, surprised to find that he means that word as more than just a courtesy.

He doesn’t reconvene with Richie again until it’s time to go home, last on the bus after taking the final roll call. Richie is sprawled across the seat they shared earlier, Eddie nudging the feet hanging out in the aisle and gesturing for him to scoot over without even thinking about it.

Richie grins and straightens up, pulling his knees around in front of him to make room. “So what did you bribe my kid with to get her asking about a tutor?”

Eddie blinks, surprised she made up her mind that quickly after being so strongly opposed before. “She did?”

“Yeah,” Richie answers with a fond smile, turning back to look at his daughter. Eddie twists around to see her near the back of the bus as usual, now sitting with a different group of kids than the ones she was with before. She looks happy though, arms crossed over the top of the seat as she regales some hilarious story to the kids sitting in front of her who are hanging on every word.

“I don’t know,” Eddie says honestly, not quite sure where it was he was able to make the breakthrough. “I just… talked to her. She’s worried about being held back which subsequently is leading to anxiety about her current friend circle moving on without her, as well as fears of being further cast out by her peers because of her learning disability—”

“Holy terminology, Batman,” Richie raises his eyebrows. “Are all elementary teachers this committed to psycho-analyzing their students?”

“Only the ones with a master’s degree in child psychology,” Eddie quips. “I’d like to think I retained  _ some  _ information from the six years I went to school for it.”

“Whoa, no shit? Should I be calling you  _ Doctor _ Kaspbrak?”

“A master’s is not the same as a doctorate,” Eddie points out.

“It is to a college drop-out,” he replies with a grin. “Seriously, though, you got all that out of my kid? The one who would rather communicate solely in hand fart morse code than talk to any of us about her feelings?”

Eddie shrugs. “Kids are like sponges at her age. I showed her some encouragement and compassion and she returned the favor in her own way. She clearly takes after you,” he looks back over his shoulder to where the girl is sitting with a big, goofy grin, surrounded by laughter of the kids around her. “She’ll follow your lead, Richie, just… keep doing what you’re doing. Set a good example.”

“I’m probably the worst person to try and set any example for her,” Richie laughs, the sound trailing off uncomfortably.

“Hey,” Eddie knocks their knees together gently, clasping his hands in his lap so he’s not tempted to reach out and place a hand on his knee for comfort. He can’t risk Richie interpreting it as anything but friendly, which it absolutely is. “I’ve seen way worse. Just because you parent a little…  _ unconventionally _ doesn’t mean you’re failing her. Like I said before, you’re doing  _ fine _ . Better than fine. This is just a rough patch; It’ll pass.”

Richie glances up to him, a conflicted expression on his face that quickly melts away. His gaze softens a bit as his eyebrows turn upwards behind the frames of his glasses, a small, private smile crossing his face.

“What?” Eddie asks after a stretch of nothing but staring.

His smile only widens before he breaks eye contact, shaking his head. “Nothing, it’s just… I wish more kids had teachers like you. I sure wish _ I  _ did when I was a kid. It’d make a heck of a difference out there.”

Eddie’s so taken aback by the genuine compliment that he can’t think of a single response in that moment. Of all the flattery and flirtation Richie has showered him with since the moment they met, nothing has quite made his heartbeat speed up as the acknowledgement that the work he does matters.

“Cat got your tongue, Eds?” Richie prompts after a moment, his own tongue poking into his cheek.

“Oh, shut up,” Eddie says, clearly flustered as he attempts and fails to cover it up, pulling his bag into his lap to root around for some kind of distraction. “I was just waiting for the innuendo punchline is all.”

“Well, if you really wanna talk about  _ in-your-end-oes _ —”

“Beep, beep, Richie,” Eddie sighs.

The quote only spurred him on, grin widening. “How many of my stand-ups have you watched?”

Eddie glares down at his bag, refusing to look over at him. “It’s Netflix’s stupid recommendation system, alright? I watched one thing of yours and now your dumb face is getting shoved down my throat everywhere I look.”

Richie shakes with stifled laughter, relaxing back into the seat the best he can with the limited space, squeezing his frame up against the window to allow a little more space between them. “I’m going to respect your earlier  _ Beep, Beep _ and refrain from commenting on that shoving down the throat phrasing.”

Eddie just hums in reply and mindlessly flips through his lesson plan, spending the rest of the bus ride ignoring Richie as much as he ignores the feeling of missing Richie’s thigh pressed up alongside his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always for the comments and kudos, they truly keep me going through this wild time <3


	5. don't want to be no uptown fool

Eddie has not missed the air in Derry.

He has no choice but to roll his window down in the back of the cab he had hailed from the airport, his driver’s upholstery reeking of chewing tobacco and rancid cologne. Stifling and stale, the air reeks of damp leaves and something that reminds him of his great grandmother’s old mothball ridden couch from childhood. Every breath he drags in reminds him of his false asthma diagnosis from childhood, his hand instinctively going to touch his throat to remind him it’s not going to close up at the first sign of distress.

His heart aches for the Los Angeles smog.

The cab slows to a stop, pulling up along the curb outside of 214 Moss Grove Lane. Eddie takes a deep breath and places the wad of cash down on the center console, not wanting to brush fingers with the man who’s had a hand shoved deep into a grease-stained McDonald’s bag for half the journey. “Keep the change,” he mutters, feeling less like a badass mobster and more like a frightened little boy who wants as little social interaction as possible before getting out of the car.

“Three days, three nights. It’s only three days and three nights, Eddie,” he mutters to himself as the taxi drives off, already feeling his sanity slip away thanks to this godforsaken town. “Three days and three nights, and you’ll be back in LA by Saturday morning. You can do this.”

He stands there for a moment longer, glancing around. Not a thing has changed since a year ago when he’d last been home, just like the year before that, and every year all the way back to his childhood. Mrs. Nolanther across the street still has a horrifying amount of garden gnomes guarding her petunias, and Mr. Robert Levins next door has been replaced by Robert Levins Jr. after his passing, but the house has not gotten any less dour. The ramshackled Collins residence sitting catty-corner to them still has overgrown weeds bleeding out through the sidewalk cracks, and the stop sign at the end of the street still has that dent in the pole from the time he and Mike Hanlon had tried doing bike tricks off of the curb and Mike went careening into the sign. Eddie smiles at the memory, remembering sneaking Mike into his backyard so he could fetch the first aid supplies from his house without his mom noticing.  _ Better me than you, right? _ Mike had said while blood gushed from his forehead, knowing exactly how Eddie’s mother would react had he been the one to sustain the injury.

He hasn’t spoken to Mike in years. They were pen pals for a while after Mike moved to Florida, but as most childhood friendships go after you part ways, the letters started arriving far and fewer between until they stopped altogether. Eddie wonders if he still has a scar above his eyebrow from that incident.

An icy gust of autumn air ruffles his coat, pulling the memory loose like an unraveling thread. Eddie sighs and shakes his head, gripping his roller suitcase a little tighter before taking the final steps up the driveway.

The door swings open as soon as he reaches for the handle, his Uncle Martin on the other side of it. About as thin and white as a piece of paper, he smiles his frail, crinkly smile at Eddie, immediately reaching out to pull him into an awkward hug. “Edward! Good to see you, Lad. Come on, then, your mother is in the other room,” he steps back and gestures for Eddie to follow him as if he doesn’t already know exactly where she is.

He leaves his suitcase by the stairs, walking through the cramped entryway to see his mother in her usual spot on her old recliner, the floral print almost completely faded at this point. Her glasses are filthy and fogged up as usual, Eddie barely able to make out her beady little eyes behind them as she blinks over at him, looking tired. “Eddie-bear?” she asks in a trembling voice.

“Hey, Mama,” Eddie greets with a sad smile, immediately walking over to her. He steps around the oxygen tank on the floor, sitting on the plastic-covered couch beside her. He reaches out and takes her hand, trying not to recoil at the clamminess of her pudgy fingers. “How are you feeling?”

She smiles at him with chapped lips, reaching up to adjust her nasal cannula. She can barely get her hand up to her face to reach it. “Much better now that you’re  _ here _ , Sweetheart.”

“Is that Edward?” one of his aunts calls from the other room, Eddie genuinely unable to tell whether it’s Helen or Agatha. It still takes him a minute to remember which one Martin is married to. (It’s Agatha. He thinks.)

_ Who else would it be?  _ Eddie wants to ask, but refrains. Sarcasm does not go over well in this company.  _ Richie would be dead in the water _ , he thinks, then immediately shakes the thought of Richie being in any circumstance to meet his family free of his mind.

“Hi, Aunties,” Eddie greets, subtly wiping his hand on his pants as he turns away from his mother to greet them. It seems that the Kaspbrak women only become more rotund as the years go on, Eddie sandwiched between them in another awkward hug.

“Oh, Dearie, you must be so tired after that flight,” Helen says, cupping his face.

“You do look pale,” Agatha comments over her sister’s shoulder. “Martin, doesn’t he look pale?”

“Yes, very pale,” Martin agrees from the hallway as he attempts to drag Eddie’s suitcase up the old steps.

“I can get that, Uncle, don’t worry about it,” Eddie attempts, but is drowned out by his mother’s apparent returned vigor upon the mention of Eddie’s pallor.

“Pale is better than too dark!” she pipes up. “I worry about him being out there in California with all those harmful UV rays. I hope you’re wearing sunscreen  _ every day _ , Eddie.”

“Yes, Ma,” Eddie replies, already feeling the exhaustion come on. “And I’m fine, Aunties, thank you for the concern.”

“If you get skin cancer, you’ll have to come back here immediately so I can watch over your treatment,” Sonia continues. “I don’t trust all of the doctors out there in LA.”

“Los Angeles is a big city, Mama. There’s a lot of great hospitals and great doctors out there—”

“How would you know? Have you been going to many hospitals?” His mother attempts to straighten up in her chair, unable to hold her weight up to hold any shape other than Sad, Old, Beanbag in the Corner. “I told you to always mail me all of your hospital records so we can keep track, Honey—”

“I’m fine!” Eddie bursts, his aunts flinching away from him.

“Edward Kaspbrak, do not raise your voice at me,” his mother scolds, any wavering to her tone mysteriously vanishing.

His hands curl into fists at his side, Eddie closing his eyes for a moment. “Sorry, Mama,” he says quietly. “It was a long flight, I think I’m just a little cranky. I’m going to go lie down—”

“I only get a few days with you and you’re going to spend your time lying down by yourself?” Sonia sniffles. “Come and sit with us. Family time will lift your spirits.”

Eddie’s jaw tightens as his aunts nod emphatically next to him, guiding him towards the couch. He digs his heels into the carpet for a moment, bringing both of them to a confused stop.

“ _ Eddie _ ,” Sonia threatens.

He presses the heel of his hand to his eye, taking a steadying breath. “Fine. I’m just going to go to the bathroom first, okay?”

He turns on his heel and walks out of the room before he can try to be convinced to stay, closing and locking the bathroom door behind him. He presses his back against it for a few moments, taking deep breaths to try and regulate his heart rate.

_ Three days, three nights. _

He stares at his reflection in the mirror over the sink as he sits down on the toilet, perfectly framed by an organized rack of hundreds of pill bottles behind him like he’s in a still shot of a Wes Anderson movie. He shakes his head, not even wanting to know all the new afflictions his mother has taken on since his last visit.

Eddie pulls his phone out of his pocket, realizing he has a few texts he missed the notifications for after turning off airplane mode. He ignores all of them in favor of checking the three unread messages from Richie Tozier.

_ hey, peggy’s freaking about some test results or something? any insider knowledge as to when those come back? _

_ u dont have to tell me if it’s against secret teacher code. just want to maybe put her mind at ease, she’s supposed to be having fun _

_ i rly appreciate everything you’ve been doing for her _

Really, Eddie shouldn’t be sharing any information about the standardized testing, but he feels a bit of a tug on his sympathetic heart strings upon reading the texts. Peggy hadn’t shown any indication of nervousness about the testing process, but he did notice she was one of the last to finish bubbling in her answer sheet before the end of the time limit. He had also observed that she went back through the booklet at least three times and made a few corrections before definitively setting her pencil down, but he hoped it was out of thoroughness more than doubting her own answers.

Following their bonding moment during the field trip, Peggy had finally agreed to take on a tutor. He had recommendations for educators with specialization in helping children with reading disabilities, but he was surprised to hear straight from Richie that Peggy was willing to accept tutoring from Eddie and no one else.

They start meeting three times a week, usually before school, but occasionally after depending on their schedules. Eddie ends up conceding on his unspoken rule about not going to the Tozier house, finding that Peggy is much more receptive in her own environment rather than be stuck behind a desk in a classroom or the library.

Sometimes Richie is around, sometimes he isn’t. Beverly is always there in his absence, either actively participating in the exercises or passively existing in the same room, working on her laptop a few feet away and occasionally stepping out to take a phone call. Either way, her presence seems to bolster Peggy in ways that neither himself nor Richie can achieve.

Whenever Richie  _ is  _ present, without fail, he always cooks for them. Eddie has always been a creature of habit. His first meal of the day for the past ten years has been a boring rotation of cereal, bagels, and eggs in various forms. In the eight mornings he’s spent at the Tozier household before school, he’s had eight completely unique breakfasts all prepared from scratch by Richie. He seems to have an endless supply of recipes he pulls out of thin air, some more unconventional than others but just as delicious. Because of him, Eddie isn’t sure if he can ever go back to pancakes without peanut butter and cocoa powder mixed into the batter.

He’s been able to keep things professional… for the most part. The first few mornings he showed up at the house, bright and early, Bev was always the one to let him in. He had assumed Richie sleeps in until noon on most days, so he wasn’t expecting him to waltz through the back door in a muscle shirt and running shorts, flushed and shining with sweat. Eddie nearly choked on his La Croix, Peggy glancing up from their study materials strewn across the dining room table.

“Hey, Dad,” she greets flatly, looking absolutely put-upon when she was fine moments before.

“Heya, Squirt,” he pulls one of his bluetooth earbuds out, letting it hang around his neck as he walks over to the sink, filling up his water bottle. Eddie does his best to keep his eyes from lingering on the bob of his adam’s apple as he tips his head back and chugs half the bottle. “Mr. K.”

“Richie,” Eddie acknowledges, glancing back to the books before he can be caught staring. “You run?”

“Only when Bev makes me,” he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, the action more obscene than it has any right to be.

“You have a photoshoot coming up and a possible movie deal after that,” Bev says from the living room couch. “Dad bod is in high demand right now, Rich, I’m just making sure you’re keeping yourself on the good end of that spectrum.”

“I’m not doing that fucking movie, Bev,” Richie crows, lifting up the hem of his shirt to wipe at the sweat on his face. Eddie quickly glances away again, catching a flash of that dad bod that is, admittedly, on the  _ “good end” _ . This is the first time he’s ever seen Richie out of a loose band tee or an ill-fitting Hawaiian print, and he can’t help but notice the breadth of his shoulders and the definition on his arms in the much tighter material.

“They want you in for an audition,” Bev says tiredly, this clearly a point of contention for some time. “You haven’t even looked at the script they sent.”

“I’m not doing it. You know I’m not interested in that shit, so just drop it, would ya?”

It’s the most serious he’s ever heard Richie— borderline  _ angry _ , really, which is an emotion that doesn’t suit him in the slightest. He clears his throat and turns back to the lesson in front of them, noticing Peggy’s pencil stilled against the paper, eyes still jumping between Beverly and her dad.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Richie announces, walking over to their table and reaching over Eddie to grab an apple from the fruit bowl. He does his best not to flinch, even as the oddly personal smell of Richie’s sweat and his deodorant fills his space, not particularly unpleasant as he’d expect. “Breakfast votes?” he asks the room.

“Blueberry waffles,” Bev answers, evidently all forgiven.

“Quiche!” Peggy demands from beside him.

Richie tosses the apple from hand to hand, pointing to Eddie with a raised eyebrow. “Tiebreaker?”

Eddie glances around to see all eyes trained on him, awaiting his verdict. “I like quiche,” he eventually concedes.

Bev groans loudly from the couch and Peggy pumps a fist into the air. “Quiche it is. I’m adding extra onions and broccoli just because I know Bev likes it so much.”

“Fuck you,” she calls from the sofa, burying herself behind her laptop once more.

Richie disappears up the stairs and Eddie smiles to himself, turning back to keep Peggy on task and keep his own attention on the work as well. He can’t linger on the domesticity of it all, no matter how welcome Richie makes him feel.

A sudden knocking on the door startles him out of his reverie, Eddie practically lunging to block the door until he remembers he locked it behind him. Old habits of trying to protect his nonexistent privacy back when his mother had removed all the interior door locks die hard.

“Eddie, dear, what’s taking so long?” His mother asks worriedly. She must have somehow convinced Martin and the Aunts to join efforts in hauling her out of her La-Z-Boy and into the wheelchair that collects dust in the corner of the living room for most of the year. “Are you staying regular?”

“ _ Jesus Christ _ —” Eddie mutters under his breath before raising his voice so she can hear. “Yes, Mama, I’m fine!” He reaches around and flushes the toilet despite not having used it at all. Anything to get her off his back.

“Alright, be sure to wash your hands for the full forty-five seconds,” his mother reminds. He doesn’t get up from where he’s seated on the toilet, noticing her shadow unmoving beneath the door. He stands and turns on the sink, only relaxing once he hears the wheelchair get pushed away alongside footfalls that are so light they can only belong to Uncle Martin.

He sighs and shuts off the water after a moment, picking up his phone again to send Richie a reply.

_ You can let her know we’ll get the results before Winter Break, but I can’t give an exact date. _

_ I’m sure she did fine. She seemed confident. _

_ thx _

He foolishly expects a follow up text to that, periodically sneaking glances at his phone while watching old home movies with his family, but he doesn’t receive another message from Richie for the rest of the evening. It’s hardly fair for him to be upset by it in any way. After all, he’s the one who pushed for professionalism. _ Let’s keep things about Peggy _ , he had said, expecting pushback from Richie and receiving none at all.

It shouldn’t bother him. It  _ doesn’t  _ bother him.

* * *

Eddie stays in his childhood bedroom as late as he can on Thanksgiving morning, banking on the fact that no one will try to wake him at the crack of dawn considering it’s three hours earlier back in LA. He barely got any sleep anyway, tossing and turning with the limited space he had when sleeping on a twin bed.

He’s still laying in said uncomfortable bed, scrolling through Twitter and Reddit when he hears heavy footfalls coming up the stairs, and a knock on his door at half past eleven. “Edward, are you up, dear?”

Always  _ Edward _ , never Eddie with the aunts. Eddie and the subsequent nicknames that suffixed onto it were reserved for only his mother.

“Yes,” he calls with faux sleepiness, shifting on the mattress to make the old springs creak. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Eddie milks his fading freedom as long as he can, spending more time than necessary in the shower before he slowly gets dressed. He properly layers up before he pulls the terribly itchy sweater his mother sent him for Christmas last year over his head, an article of clothing that stays buried in his closet due to both it’s hideousness and lack of need in the Southern Californian climate. 

“Two days, two nights,” Eddie mutters to his reflection in the hallway mirror before tugging at the collar and heading downstairs.

Thanksgiving at the Kaspbrak household is the same as it is every year. Uncle Martin slaves away in the kitchen all by himself while the three sisters sit and gossip in the living room with the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade playing on the TV. Eddie does his best to assist Martin when he can, even though he has absolutely nothing to talk about with the other man. Really, he feels sorry for Uncle Martin, even though he’s right-winged and has the personality of a goldfish that’s been left out in the sun. Eddie himself almost ended up in his exact situation— mild and meek, tending to his overbearing wife’s every beck and call.

As it is every year, the “big meal” is damn near flavorless thanks to his family’s picky palates. Sonia hates turkey, so they replace it with a store-bought rotisserie chicken that Martin slaps in the oven for a half hour to give the illusion of it being cooked by him. Helen is allergic to garlic, so the green beans and mashed potatoes are both totally bland and barely seasoned with salt and pepper. Agatha can’t stand the texture of gravy or jam, so the only thing Eddie can drown his tastebuds in is sorrow. Nine times out of ten, Martin overcooks the cornbread so it’s completely dried out by the time it makes it onto their plates. Every year, Eddie offers to go out and at least pick up a slightly more colorful and tasty dessert from one of the local bakeries, but he’s immediately shut down with concerns of calories and high cholesterol, as if there’s any hope for their comically overweight women.

With the patience of an actual Saint, Eddie manages to make it through dinner without any eruptions like yesterday. His jaw might as well be wired shut as he sits in polite silence, suffering through Uncle Martin’s conservative, racist, and homophobic observations of the world around him, Aunt Helga and Agatha arguing over opinions they heard on  _ The View _ , and his mother injecting her hypochondriatic nonsense into every shift of conversation.

Eddie finds time to sneak away after he finishes putting the dishes away and his family has migrated into the living room to start arguing over which board game they’ll spend the better part of the evening playing. He tip-toes up the stairs and retrieves his phone, his mother having a strict “no phones” policy during family time out of social reasoning but also her paranoia that the “radio waves” emitted from cell phones will rot her brain from the inside out.

He’s both surprised and pleased to see a text from Richie waiting for him.

_ how goes thanksgiving w/ ur mom? tell her i said thanks for last night, it was amazing xoxo _

Eddie rolls his eyes.

_ Terrible, as usual. How about yours? _

The response comes a few minutes later, a picture that looks like it was sneakily taken from another room. It’s a homey looking den with a big sectional and matching arm chairs, three people huddled together on the sofa. He recognizes Peggy curled up in between who he assumes to be her grandparents, all three of them fast asleep and illuminated by the glow of the football game on TV. It’s followed by a photo of the dining room table that’s full of half-eaten dishes, Eddie’s mouth watering just at the sight.

_ your classic, american as fuck thanksgiving, complete with mom and dad giving their speech about the horrors of colonialism. about ready to let the tryptophan take me under as well and join the rest of the Tozzzziers. _

Eddie can’t help but smile.

_ Enjoy your food coma. _

_ wanna talk about what made yours so terrible? _

_ “Eddie-bear!”  _ His mother’s shrill voice calls from downstairs.  _ “It’s time to start Monopoly!” _

Eddie locks his phone and leaves it face down on his bedside table for the rest of the night. When he heads downstairs, his family is all waiting expectantly, Sonia giving his hair a ruffle as he sits on the floor by her feet, as he always does during their annual Monopoly game.

“I saved your favorite piece for you, sweetie. Your little thimble,” she says with a smile, handing the metal game piece to him.

He accepts it with a forced smile. “Thanks, Mama.”

His actual favorite piece was always the cowboy. He loved cowboys as a kid, but his mother always lectured him about the dangers of horse riding, and what kind of chafing can occur, and how bad his allergies would flare up if he was out in the desert or fields breathing in all that dust and grass and cow manure, as if it was a feasible career option he was considering at age seven.

She only ever let him play with the thimble, just another reminder of how small and under her thumb he really was.

* * *

“Sweetie Pie, where are you going?”

Eddie freezes with his hand on the front door handle. It’s still pretty early on the following day, and the Kaspbraks had a tendency to sleep in late after a full day of holiday eating. At least, that’s what he had been banking on.

He steps back into the front hallway, looking into the living room where his mother is planted in her usual seat. “I thought I’d go out for a little Black Friday shopping.”

Eddie didn't want or need to shop for anything. Really, he has no desire to fight over half-priced commodities with a bunch of other feral shoppers. He just needed an excuse to get out of the house for a few hours before he snapped like a twig.

Sonia frowns at him, “Honey Bunch, you know how dangerous Black Friday shopping can be. Do you know how many people die per year because of it? You could get trampled, or worse—”

“Mom,” Eddie interrupts a little harsher than he means to. He clears his throat, evening out his tone. “I’ll be fine. I just want to see if there’s any good deals. It’s not like Derry is even near as busy as LA on an average day.”

She scowls, “Don’t remind me. You don’t go to any of those outdoor shopping malls they have, so you? They’re just crawling with bacteria—”

“Goodbye, Mom,” Eddie interrupts again, hesitating in the hallway for a moment. His feet want to instinctively carry him back into the den to place a peck on his mother’s blotchy cheek before he goes, but he resists. “I won’t get trampled. I’ll be back later.”

He doesn't hear whatever warning it is she calls out as he hustles out the door, breaking into a jog and not slowing down until he’s three blocks away.

_ One day, one night. _

Downtown Derry is actually surprisingly busy, all the Mom-and-Pop stores catching onto the fact that today is retail heaven and hell for them. Leftover streamers and confetti that has yet to be cleaned up from yesterday’s parade crunch under his feet as he makes his way through the crowded sidewalks, hands shoved in the pockets of his coat.

Nothing really catches his eye as he wanders throughout all the shops, just trying to burn as much time as possible before he’s forced to return home. It’s mid-afternoon when he sees a sign for one of the local autoshops, advertising “FREE LUBRICATION SERVICE, INQUIRE AT BACK ENTRANCE”. It’s so corny and outwardly improper that he can’t help but laugh and think of Richie. He takes a quick picture as he walks by, texting it to him with the message “ _ didn’t know you were a semi-successful comedian AND a business owner _ ”.

His phone suddenly fills with his contact photo for Richie, the one of him and Peggy on their Hookie Hike. He thinks about just letting it go to voicemail, but answers it against his better judgement. “You know, it’s pretty poor etiquette to call people that you’re texting so often. I mean, if something is that important to say out loud, you could just send me a voice memo—”

_ “Eddie?” _ Richie interrupts with a hitch in his breath.  _ “Where are you right now?” _

Eddie pauses, glancing around. “...On the sidewalk?”

_ “On the sidewalk where?” _

Eddie sighs. “I don’t know the exact street, Rich, I’m just kind of walking around back home.”

_ “And where is back home?” _

“Maine. Derry, Maine. Why?” Eddie hears what sounds like wind rushing past the receiver on the other line, Richie huffing. “Rich? Richie? Hey, you still with me? I think your signal—”

Eddie stops when he looks up in front of him and locks eyes with a familiar, spectacled face. Is he hallucinating, or is that Richie standing on the other end of the crosswalk, holding his phone to his ear with his arms full of shopping bags, looking like he’s seen a ghost?

Eddie stays rooted to the spot as Richie crosses the street, now noticing Peggy in tow. Dumbly, he drops the phone away from his ear, still staring in utter disbelief at the sight in front of him that is seeming less and less like a mirage. Maybe he’s dreaming. Actually, he’d prefer this be reality so he doesn’t have to acknowledge the fact that Richie is now invading his subconscious as well.

“Eddie? You’ve got to be shitting me!” Richie exclaims loudly, drawing a few stares. “You’re from goddamn  _ Derry _ ?”

He nods slowly, mouth still agape. “You’re from Derry,” he parrots back flatly, brain still trying to process the most serendipitous of all serendipity. Suddenly, he realizes why some of Richie’s stories in his stand-up hit so close to home— He was literally  _ close to home _ .

“I can’t believe this!” Richie laughs loudly, clutching his head. “What are the fucking odds?”

“That you’re both from this shithole? Probably pretty slim,” Peggy chimes in, clearly displeased with being overlooked as the two men just stare at each other. “Hi, Mr. K.”

“Hey, Peggy,” Eddie replies, flashing her an apologetic smile before he looks back at Richie. “This is wild.”

“Wild? It’s  _ batshit insane _ !” Richie laughs. “No one is from Derry. Like, literally  _ no one _ . I’m pretty sure you and I are the only two people in the history of this town to ever leave.”

“There’s been a few,” Eddie smiles, thinking of Bill and Mike.

“Um, excuse me?” A female voice asks from behind Richie, all three of them turning. Eddie half expects it to be someone scolding Richie for his usual profane outbursts in the presence of young children, but it turns out to be a small group of teenagers. “You— You’re Richie Tozier, right?”

“Jason Bateman, actually, but it’s okay, we get mistaken for each other all the time.”

The girl stares for a moment before cracking a smile, her friends all snickering behind her. “I’m so sorry to bother you. My friends kept saying they saw you today but I thought there was no way— We’re all really big fans— Could I— Is it okay if we get a picture?” She stammers.

“Yeah, of course,” Richie smiles, awkwardly shifting the bags in his arms to lean in and take selfies with the group of teens fervently pulling their phones out of their pockets. Peggy looks over at Eddie and sticks her tongue out, eyes rolling into the back of her head.

The teens stutter out their thanks and reiterate how much they love Richie’s comedy before quickly moving down the street, chattering excitedly to each other the whole way. Richie pulls the baseball cap on his head a little lower, gesturing for Eddie and Peggy to continue walking. “Let’s get going before I get swarmed. Word travels fast in Derry.”

“I know,” Eddie says without even thinking about it, sharing a quick smile with Richie at this weird, new, shared thing they have in common. “Does that kind of stuff happen often?” He asks, immediately falling into step with them.

“Only here,” Peggy says dryly. “Because nothing ever happens here, so Dad’s like, a  _ mega- _ celeb. That stuff never happens in LA.”

“Does too!” Richie argues, clearly affronted. “I get recognized all the time!”

“Suuuure, Dad,” Peggy nods her head sarcastically before making eye contact with Eddie to shake her head and mouth _ no he doesn’t _ .

Eddie holds in his laughter and offers an arm to take the single bag from her which she happily hands off. Peggy can be pretty amusing when her jokes aren’t causing disruption in his classroom. “Where were you guys headed next?”

“Well, we finished going through the, like,  _ four _ entire stores of Downtown Derry,” Richie says, checking his watch. “Our pick-up order might actually be ready.”

Eddie quickly goes through his very short catalogue of the restaurants in Derry, only knowing of one that does pick-up orders. “Jade of the Orient? What, you guys didn’t have enough leftovers to last you through the day?”

“Oh, we have plenty, but it’s been a Tozier Family Tradition for years to get Chinese take-out the day after Thanksgiving, no matter where we’re at. Mama Tozier is a firm believer that Thanksgiving leftovers are fundamentally better the following week. And, I mean, she’s totally right.”

Eddie gags thinking about dipping back into the Kaspbrak tupperwares, barely able to get through eating the meal a first time, let alone returning for an act two after it’s going through the microwave.

“Hey, we always order way too much anyway. Why don’t you stay for dinner?”

Eddie blinks in surprise, not expecting the invite. “Oh, that’s okay, really. I’d hate to crash your family tradition and I’ve been gone all day. I think my mom will have an aneurysm if I’m not home for dinner.” _ Or at least, pretend to have one. _

“I thought your mom was making you miserable,” Richie furrows his brow. “And you won’t be crashing. Seriously, my parents love having guests, and they’ll totally flip knowing Peggy’s teacher is also from around here.”

Eddie opens his mouth, fully prepared to turn down the offer until he stops to think about why he’s doing it. He  _ wants  _ to say yes. Eating copious amounts of Chinese takeout with people who aren’t his family at a house that doesn’t contain every reminder of his childhood traumas sounds like a gift right now. Until running into him on the street, Eddie had also forgotten how weirdly comforting it is to be in Richie’s presence. The only reservation he has isn’t even one of his own.

“ _ We’d  _ love to have you too,” Richie adds after Eddie’s silence, offering him a lop-sided smile.

“Plus, Grammy Maggie will  _ definitely  _ show you a ton of embarrassing pictures of Dad,” Peggy nudges his side with a grin.

“Well,  _ now  _ we’re talking,” Eddie smiles back, deciding to make a decision for himself. Just because he’s back in Derry doesn’t mean he’s back to the same boy he was when he left the damned town. “Alright, but I can’t stay for too long.”

“Just long enough to eat,” Richie agrees, but his smile clearly indicates something more.

They walk down to the restaurant, the pick-up order ready and waiting when they arrive. Richie really wasn’t kidding about the amount of food they ordered, the three of them having to shuffle around the shopping and takeout bags until everyone is holding as much weight as they can carry without being in danger of spilling Christmas/Hanukkah gifts and Lo Mein all over the pavement. Richie’s old house isn’t far from the restaurant, the Toziers living on the “nicer” side of town where all of the homes with the big yards and attached garages exist. As they get closer, Eddie realizes that Bill’s childhood home is right around the corner. He used to ride his bike down this road every day after school, Bill on Silver right by his side. Even after the Denbroughs moved away after the disappearance of their youngest son, Eddie still rode by that house for a month, up until the day a new family moved in.

All of his Derry memories, even the happiest ones, seem to have that same tinge of sadness around the edges. They double as a reminder of why he left.

“Hey, you alright?” Richie asks from beside him.

Eddie realizes he’s standing on the sidewalk, Richie having come to a stop in front of a two-story, red brick house, Peggy already bounding up the porch steps and knocking on the front door with her foot.

“Yeah, sorry,” Eddie shakes his head. “Just… zoned out for a second there.”

Richie smiles, eyes sparking with recognition. “Happens to me a lot when I’m back here too. Derry’s always been kinda weird like that, huh?”

“Yeah,” Eddie nods his head slowly, wondering if Richie has the same kind of memories he does. Now that the reality of him growing up here has fully sunken in, he racks his brain trying to unearth some kind of forgotten memory from childhood where he sat behind some curly-haired loudmouth in class when he was around Peggy’s age.

He follows Richie up the steps, greeted at the door by a tall woman with Richie’s smile lines and dark, tousled hair, hers streaked with grey. Her eyes settle on Eddie curiously, her head tilting to the side. “Now, Richie, where did you find such a handsome young suitor in a place like this? I appreciate the thought, but I am a married woman you know,” she smirks, placing a hand over her heart.

“Hands off, Marge, this one’s mine,” Richie declares, accepting a kiss on the cheek from her as he crosses the threshold. “Kidding. This is Eddie. He’s a friend from LA, but  _ more importantly _ , Peggy’s teacher.”

“Oh, really?” She brightens up, Eddie able to recognize her smile has been passed down both to her son and her granddaughter. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Eddie, I’m Maggie— Here, let me take some of those,” she waves her hands insistently, stealing a few of the bags from him even in his effort to handle them himself.

“Hey, how come you didn’t offer to help me!” Richie complains from further inside the house.

“Because Eddie is a  _ guest _ , Dear,” Maggie throws Eddie a  _ can you believe him?  _ look, the familiarity with which she says his name a little jarring. “I can’t believe you made him carry your things at all!”

“It’s not my fault you decide to buy out half the restaurant’s stock every year! How else am I going to get the stuff home if not by bribing people on the street with the promise of mediocre Sichuan pork and my incredibly charming company?”

“I’m assuming you came for the pork,” Maggie whispers conspiratorially to Eddie.

“I thought that was obvious,” Eddie whispers back, following her into the kitchen.

“Margaret, sweetie, see if you have any luck fetching your grandfather from his little workshop. His ears are apparently filled with wood dust because he’s refused to respond to me calling him for the past hour.”

“Okay!” Peggy replies, immediately setting the food on the dining room table before sprinting out of the back door. Eddie has never seen her so eager to carry out a request by an adult before.

“Do not touch any of his tools!” Richie shouts after her. “And don’t you dare try and smuggle any of his whittling knives into your suitcase! You remember what happened last time!”

“I’ve never seen airport security tackle someone so fast,” Maggie reminisces somberly.

“I’m pretty sure that asshole dislocated my shoulder,” Richie complains, rubbing the joint as he pulls down plates from the cabinet.

“To be fair, you did respond to him demanding to search her bag with,  _ ‘She’s seven, what do you think she has in there, a  _ **_bomb_ ** _?’ _ ”

“It’s fucking  _ Derry _ , Ma! Who the hell would bomb fucking Derry?! I don’t know of any terrorist groups that are looking to kill a total of six people with an IED inside of a  _ My Little Pony _ backpack!”

Maggie turns to Eddie as they pull out all the takeout boxes and spread them across the counter, ignoring her son’s hysteric rambling. “I pulled some strings and got the head of security to send me a copy of the footage. It’s hilarious, don’t forget to have me show it to you before you leave.”

“Don’t you dare,” Richie threatens.

Eddie doesn’t look away from Maggie, grinning. “Please do. I was also promised baby pictures?”

“Oh,  _ of course _ .”

“No fucking loyalty in this household! None!” Richie throws his hands up.

Eddie helps set the table, navigating the kitchen and mother-son banter with an ease he hasn’t felt since stepping foot in Derry. As they finish laying out the ample amount of Chinese food, the back door opens again, Peggy coming through with her grandfather close behind. 

Wentworth Tozier cuts an intimidating picture, taller and broader than Richie with a strong jaw and tortoiseshell glasses perched on an austere nose. At first he seems a little more reserved than the rest of the Toziers, greeting Eddie with a firm handshake and a thick Chicago accent, very little preamble to his small talk. The facade fades a few fractions when he sees the man point at the front of Peggy’s shirt and flick her nose when she looks down, and disappears even further when he gives his son a once over and asks if he really left the house dressed like  _ that _ .

“So, Eddie, did you live in Derry or are you just visiting family?” Wentworth asks once they’re all settled around the table.

“I grew up here, actually,” Eddie answers, dipping his spring roll into sweet-and-sour sauce. “Born and raised.”

“Really?” Maggie raises her eyebrows. “What’s your last name? I must know your parents.”

Eddie swallows, already knowing where this conversation is going to go and come to its awkward end. “Kaspbrak? My mother’s name is Sonia.”

“Sonia Kaspbrak…” She taps her chopsticks against her plate thoughtfully. “I don’t think I know her. I know everyone in Derry.”

“She, uh, doesn’t get out much,” Eddie deflects with a shrug.

“And what about your father? I might know him.”

“Come on, guys, enough with the third degree here. This feels like Prom Night all over again,” Richie interjects from across the table, Eddie more grateful for the rescue than Richie will probably ever realize.

“Oh, yes, who was that homely looking girl you brought over here?”

“Oh my god, Dad, you can’t call people  _ homely _ ,” Richie places his head in his hands.

“Ah, Rachel Something-Or-Other,” Maggie snaps her fingers a few times. “She was rather horrific looking, Richie, even you have to know that. I mean, I know boys your age really only had one thing on your mind—”

“Impressionable child, right here,” Richie points out, reaching over to clap his hands over Peggy’s ears.

“Oh, please, like she hasn’t heard so much worse from you,” Maggie rolls her eyes and turns her attention back on Eddie, clearly intent on the very polite interrogation continuing. “How long have you lived in Los Angeles, Eddie?”

These kinds of answers come much easier, the topic shifting to much more comfortable territory. “I moved out there for college when I was seventeen. Got a scholarship to UCLA for Early Childhood Education.”

“Oh my, you went out there all by yourself, that young?”

“You guys kicked me out at sixteen,” Richie mutters through a mouthful of sesame chicken.

“You  _ left _ ,” Wentworth corrects stiffly, flashing his son a warning glance.

Maggie continues on, leaning forward. “LA must’ve been a huge change for you. I can’t imagine a place so different from Derry.”

Eddie glances over at Richie who has gone back to focusing on shoveling as much food as possible into his mouth, any tension between himself and Wentworth dissolved over egg noodles and wontons. “That’s kind of exactly why I left,” Eddie admits with a smile. “I think I needed a complete change of pace, and it’s worked out for me pretty well so far.”

It’s a watered down answer, but Eddie can’t be expected to give up anything of substance during this session of socially obliged small talk. As warm and good-intentioned Maggie is, Eddie still has enough etiquette not to dump all of his emotional baggage out onto the Tozier dinner table. None of them need to be subject to hearing about how he was running from a toxic and abusive relationship with his overly-dependent mother, and the only way he knew he could cut ties was to put as much geographical distance between himself and this pathetic, depressing smear on a map of a town.

“So, tell me,” Eddie wipes his mouth on his napkin, relaxing a little more into his chair. “Was Richie always this annoying, or did he acquire more of it with age?”

The dinner progresses easily after that, Eddie barely able to keep up with the volley of embarrassing childhood stories and good-natured jibes thrown back and forth across the table. The way Richie had painted his parents in his stand-up didn’t nearly do them justice. Maggie and Wentworth flourish into fully-realized personalities right before him over a single dinner, evolving far beyond the Traditional, Man’s Man, Dentist Father and Equally Stern as she is Flighty, Lawyer Mother that he had described. He’s alluded to them being rigid and distant, both on stage and in passing comments to Eddie, usually when he’s most concerned about his own parenting skills.

If that was the case before, it certainly doesn’t seem to be now as they sit around the table for at least another hour after they’ve all finished eating, nearly crying laughing through the arguments birthed from anecdotes about anything from Richie’s first cavity to who actually spoiled the truth behind Santa to Peggy. Eddie doesn’t even realize how late it’s gotten until Richie has to take a call from Bev, looking at his own phone to see he has about a dozen missed calls from his mom, with a few from his aunts and uncle thrown in as well.

“Shoot,” Eddie’s chair scrapes against the hardwood as he gets to his feet, all of them looking at him in surprise. “I’m sorry, I just need to call my mom real quick.”

“Of course,” Maggie nods, gesturing for him to take it. “Alright, one of you, help me clear these plates.”

Eddie leaves the room before he can see the outcome of Went and Peggy’s game of Rock, Paper, Scissors, stepping into the hallway to call his mother back.

She picks up on the first ring.  _ “Eddie? Oh my god, Eddie, is that you? Are you alright? Where are you?!” _

“Yes, it’s me. Mama, I’m fine, I just need you to breathe okay?”

_ “Eddie, I’ve been worried absolutely sick—” _

“I know, I’m sorry I didn’t call—”

_ “I was going to contact the police! Your Uncle Martin has been driving around asking people if they’ve seen you!” _

Eddie clutches his forehead, pulling the phone away from his ear for a moment. “Mom,” he interrupts her frantic hysteria. “You didn’t need to do that.”

_ “I absolutely did when you weren’t answering your phone!” _ She practically shrieks.

“And I said I was sorry,” Eddie says evenly, determined not to dissolve into a screaming match with his psychotic mother when there’s a perfectly sane family just a few feet away. “I’m perfectly fine, nothing is wrong, and I’m on my way home now. Please just stay calm and remember that I’m an adult and don’t need anyone to check on me every hour.”

_ “Eddie-Bear—” _

“I’ll see you soon. Goodbye.”

His hand is shaking when he presses the end call button. He reaches for the inhaler that hasn’t lived in his pocket in years and wants to smack himself for it. He glances up towards the ceiling for a moment, counting his breaths like his therapist taught him. Slowly, he brings his gaze back down to settle on the wall that’s covered with a collage of framed photos. He reaches out, hand settling on a picture of Richie.

He looks younger than Peggy in the photo, eyes huge and bug-like behind the thick glasses, a smattering of freckles peeking out from beneath the taped bridge across his nose. His hair is wild and unruly just like his daughter's, and he’s grinning at the camera with one of his front teeth missing. Eddie smiles and drags his finger along to the next frame, moving down the hallway. He journeys through Richie’s adolescence, his awkward haircuts and braces, him quickly going from coming up to his parents’ hips to rivaling their height in the span of a few short years. There’s a printed article for Richie’s first stand-up show, ticket stubs and photos of Maggie and Wentworth at the venue gathered in a shadow box and proudly displayed.

It brings him a calm he’s unfamiliar with, the tightness in his chest all but gone as he reaches the end of the hallway. He wants to stay here in this place where children are proudly messy and parents can poke fun at their flaws and support their strengths in the same, witty comment. Where people he’s never met before can feed him a restaurant dinner that’s made him feel better than any home-cooked meal from his mother ever has.

But he can’t stay here forever. His mom is waiting.

Laughter greets him as he re-enters the kitchen, Richie having returned from his own phone call and is now animatedly yelling over the rest of his family. “No, no, no, you’re doing the voice all wrong. It’s more like— Hey, Eds, everything all right?”

At this point he shouldn’t be so surprised when Richie’s oddly tentative nature is turned on him. He lingers in the entryway, uncomfortable now as all Tozier eyes are on him. “Yeah, fine,” he answers, finding that he means if. “I just have to get home. Thank you guys so much for letting me crash your dinner.”

Maggie immediately gets up to hug him goodbye, waving him off. “Nonsense, you are welcome over anytime when you’re back in town, whether Richie’s here or not.”

“We’ll have to cook you a real meal sometime,” Wentworth adds, lifting his scotch glass in acknowledgement.

“This was amazing, really,” Eddie insists, accepting the hug from Maggie. “I couldn’t have asked for better.”

“If you think this subpar take-out was amazing, then you need to have our son cook for you,” Maggie winks at him, patting him on the back.

“I cook for him all the time,” Richie says, grabbing his jacket. “ _ Breakfast _ , mostly.”

Eddie’s face burns as both Maggie and Went’s eyebrows go up. “When I come over to tutor Peggy before school,” Eddie adds hastily, shooting Richie a dirty look. He makes a show of wiping pie crumbs from his mouth, clearly hiding his grin behind the napkin.

“Of course,” Maggie laughs. “Went, give Richie your keys so he can get Eddie home.”

“I was going to walk, actually,” Eddie interrupts, Maggie and Richie flashing him an eerily similar curious expression. “Nothing is really close enough in LA to walk to, so I kind of like doing that when I’m back home.”  _ Plus, it gives me some buffer time between conversations with my mother. _

“I’ll walk you home then,” Richie states as a fact rather than an offer, already lacing up his sneakers.

“You don’t have to,” Eddie brushes off. “I live on the other side of town.”

“Oh, no, a whole  _ fifteen  _ minute walk,” Richie declares with mock horror. He walks up and nudges Eddie with his elbow, nodding towards the front door. “Come on, I know a shortcut. Have you seen the big sinkhole on that Neibolt corner lot?”

Eddie’s eyes widen. “The crackhouse is gone?”

“What’s a crackhouse?” Peggy asks from the table, not looking up from her phone.

“Uh, ask your grandparents,” Richie grins at Eddie and rushes for the door.

“Be safe!” Wentworth calls alongside Maggie’s simultaneous, “Come back anytime, Eddie!”

Eddie thanks them again as he rushes to catch up to Richie who’s standing at the end of the sidewalk, hands in the pockets of his jacket. “I’m sorry about them,” he says immediately. “I know they can be  _ a lot  _ sometimes.”

“They were fine, Richie,” Eddie smiles and walks forward, tugging his scarf tighter around his neck. It’s funny how even though they’re back here in cold, dreary Maine, Richie still dresses the same way he does in California. “Seriously, I’m familiar with family being _ a lot _ and they were nowhere close.”

“I think it’s to make up the fact that they were pretty much nonexistent during my childhood. Really turned that wheel hard to overcorrect,” he rolls his eyes.

“Well at least they changed, right?” Eddie tries, unsure of how sensitive a topic this actually is with Richie considering how often the man uses humor to cope.

“I guess,” Richie shrugs, a silence falling between them for a few minutes. “It’s why I cook so often,” he eventually continues. “Had to make myself almost every meal as a latch-key kid. My parents were never home to feed me, so I did it myself.”

Eddie looks at him imploringly, but Richie is apparently done elaborating as conversation stills again. Dead leaves crunch beneath their shoes as they walk along, fluttering across the pavement with the occasional November wind.

“I don’t get it,” Richie suddenly lets out a frustrated sigh, coming to a stop.

Eddie halts a few steps after, turning back with a raised brow. “Don’t get what?”

Richie squints at him. “We’re the same age. There’s one K-12 school here in Derry and only about thirty kids to a grade. How did we not know each other?”

“Well… you were born in Chicago, right? When did you move here?”

“I don’t know, fifth, maybe sixth grade?” Richie scratches his head. “Sixth. My mom inherited the house when I started middle school.”

“Ah,” Eddie nods, putting the pieces together. “That explains it then. My mom pulled me out of school after fifth grade and homeschooled me through the end of high school.”

Richie stares at him, brow furrowed. “We just missed each other...”

“Yeah.”

They stand there for a moment longer, eyes locked as this strange link to their past settles between them. “Do you think we would’ve been friends?” Richie asks with a smirk, asking exactly what Eddie had been thinking.

“God, no,” Eddie scoffs and starts walking again. “I would’ve  _ hated  _ you.”

“So nothing like our relationship now,” Richie teases.

Eddie glances at him sideways and shakes his head, refusing to take the bait. “I never hated you, Richie.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Richie holds his hands up. “Seriously, I’ve seen murder in your eyes on more than one occasion.”

“That’s just my face,” Eddie glares for emphasis, but it just makes Richie laugh.

“Is that why you got pulled out of school? The other kids fear for their safety around you?”

“Uh, not exactly,” Eddie stares straight ahead, chewing on his lip for a moment. “It was kind of the other way around.”

He can feel Richie’s eyes on him. “What happened?”

Eddie hesitates, biting his lip, but something makes him speak up. “Do you remember Henry Bowers?”

“Ugh,” Richie scowls. “That little fucking mullet-wearing, backwater, Neo-Nazi? Course I remember him. He got held back around eighth grade then went to Juvie. Serves the little asshole right.”

“Yeah, well, before someone finally decided to do something about that little asshole, he stabbed me in the cheek with his pocket knife.”

Richie comes to a stop. “Are you fucking serious?”

Eddie nods and turns his face, pointing to his left cheek. “Still have the scar.”

The once angry, puckered pink line below his cheekbone has long since faded to a pale sliver, barely visible these days. Richie leans closer to look at it, Eddie flinching in surprise when he feels his fingertips graze over it. “Sorry,” Richie murmurs, but doesn’t drop his hand away completely.

“S’fine,” Eddie rasps softly.

“What the fuck did he do that for?” Richie asks angrily, finally stepping back.

Eddie exhales once Richie is out of his personal space, not even having realized he was holding his breath. He shrugs and continues walking, the two of them now passing through the park with the creepy Paul Bunyan statue. “Why did Bowers do any of the shit he used to do? He tortured me all the time, but I guess one day he decided he was going to do more than call me a faggot and try and shove my head in a toilet.” It’s not as hard to talk about anymore despite being one of the more traumatizing moments of his childhood, but he still feels his throat tighten as his body naturally remembers the flight or fight response he had that day he was cornered outside of the library. “He told me I was gonna catch AIDs if I kept trying to give blowjobs to all the guys in our grade. I didn’t even know what a blowjob was yet,” Eddie laughs despite himself, shaking his head at how ridiculous the entire thing is now. “Claimed he was going to  _ save  _ me by making sure I couldn’t taint the rest of our class with my gayness.”

“Fuck,” Richie breathes. “Eddie, that’s horrible. I’m so sorry that happened.”

Eddie shrugs. Bowers had been obsessed with him and Bill back then, maybe because they were part of the few stupid enough to ever talk back to him or stand up for themselves. “I’m just glad that kind of behavior is dying off. Sure, there’s still plenty of bullying, but kids are so much more tolerant and accepting now.”

“I know. I’m real fucking jealous sometimes, but I know how shitty that sounds. I’m really just glad they don’t have to deal with the same shit we did,” Richie sighs, looking over at Eddie again with that gentle, unique sort of sympathy in his eyes. “This is going to sound super lame, but I’ve been meaning to tell you that I really appreciate all the things you do for LGBT kids. I know you always pick those kinds of causes for the fundraisers, and I saw that you started a club at school for that and I just…” He rubs the back of his neck, glancing away. “It’s super cool, that’s all.”

Richie is kind of cute when he’s flustered, Eddie quickly banishing that thought from his mind. It’s just that he’s thrown off whenever the guy shows any kind of real emotion that’s not him being a cocky dickhead, nothing more. “Thanks,” he smiles. “I know some people think you shouldn’t really talk about that stuff at early ages, but I’m just constantly thinking about how much better my life would’ve been if someone was willing to actually help me understand everything I was going through. There’s such a weird idea in some people’s heads that sexuality is this dirty thing that kids shouldn’t be allowed to think or talk about, but it’s so much more than just that. Relationships and sex weren’t even on the table for me when I started to realize I was different, you know? All I knew is that all the way my friends looked at and talked about girls… I was feeling that way about boys instead.”

Richie’s staring at him again. Eddie glances away in embarrassment, eyes glued to the cracks in the sidewalk as he quickens his pace a bit. His house is just a few blocks away now.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to ramble. It’s what I wrote my Masters’ Thesis on in college so I feel like I can just go on and on about it,” he mutters.

“Eddie,” Richie laughs, his name sounding like it was always meant to be heard in the other man’s voice. “Don’t apologize. I literally made rambling about my sexuality into an entire stand-up tour. So, basically,  _ my _ version of a Masters’ thesis.” 

Eddie picks his gaze up off the ground and shares a small smile with Richie, it now being the other man’s turn to glance away first. “How was that?” Eddie asks. “Your tour, I mean. Were you out before?”

Richie shakes his head. “Only to family and close friends. Bev and Stan, my publicist, have been going back and forth with me for a few years trying to figure out what was the best way to do it, or if I even should do it at all. I made such a career out of being this overly  _ straight  _ guy, I guess part of me was worried no one was going to think I was funny anymore if they knew I was also into dudes.”

Eddie wants to tell him how ridiculous he is for thinking that, but a part of him completely understands that irrational mindset. “But you’re glad you did it?”

“I think so,” Richie nods. “I don’t know. I’ve never really cared about what people thought of  _ me _ , but my comedy always felt separate. Less personal. Now that I’ve gotten up on stage in thirty cities and talked about sucking cock, I think that idea’s kind of gone out the window.”

Eddie laughs, the sound loud and disruptive on the otherwise quiet street. “Well, I was looking forward to hearing it, but now I think I’ll have to pass for the sake of that mental image  _ never  _ crossing my mind.”

“Oh, come on, I already said it!” Richie laughs, grinning at him. “You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?”

Eddie groans and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. “ _ Please  _ shut up.”

“Bet it’s not the first time you’ve thought about it, huh, Eds?” Richie needles.

“Okay, I take back what I said earlier, I hate you again.”

“ _ Again! _ I knew it!”

Their laughter carries them around the corner, Eddie coming to a stop on the same curb he had been dropped off just a few days ago. It feels like it’s been years, time always passing a little differently here in Derry. 

For once, after spending most of his day with Richie, he wishes he could stretch this moment out just a little bit longer.

“Well, this is me,” Eddie sighs, looking towards the house. He can see a quick flash of movement as the curtain by the front window swings shut. Great.

“Sure you don’t want me to come inside?” Richie raises his eyebrows.

Eddie holds up a finger. “I swear to God, Richie, don’t you dare make a comment about my mom.”

“Well I wasn’t going to, but that’s because I never have to ask her if she’ll let me come insi—”

Eddie shoves him off the curb, watching him stumble to avoid falling into a parked car. “Get out of here, asshole.”

Richie grins back at him as he rights himself, undeterred. “How much longer you gonna be in town?”

“I’m leaving tomorrow morning,” Eddie answers, feeling a sense of relief as he says it out loud.

“Well, you’re welcome over for breakfast,” Richie offers. “I’ll make those pancakes you like.”

Eddie’s waiting for the follow-up stinger about how breakfast would be easier if he stayed the night, but it doesn’t come. “Maybe a raincheck once we’re back in LA,” he suggests, knowing he won’t be able to sneak away to the Tozier’s early enough before his flight.

They finally part ways, Eddie dragging his feet up the drive while Richie crosses the street. There’s a moment of hesitation as he stands on the porch, some kind of inner drive making him turn back and speak before he can even think to stop the urge. “Richie,” he calls, watching the man stop in the middle of the road, turning back to look at him with an arched brow. Eddie’s throat feels dry again. “...Thanks for walking me home.”

Richie just smiles and lifts a hand in salute, taking a few backwards steps before he turns away completely. “Thanks for being from Derry.”

Eddie watches his retreating form until he’s gone, disappearing into the residential sea of beige houses and bare trees. Having no reason left to stall his impending doom, he faces the front door and takes a deep breath before turning the handle.

“Eddie-Bear, who was that?” His mother demands the instant he walks in the door. 

He sighs, closing it behind him and bolting all the additional locks she’s added over the years, convinced that someone will try to break in one day, as if her ceramic cat collection is of any value to wandering burglars. “One of my student’s parents. He grew up here in Derry and we ran into each other on the street.”

She’s sitting in the same position she was when he left earlier that day, still staring out the front window. “He looks familiar. Is he famous or something?” She seems to have let her earlier hysteria fade, probably knowing she needed to switch tactics by the time he returned so she didn’t push him further away. She somehow always knew how to toe that line of Eddie’s tolerance, taking the sympathetic route when threats and manipulation failed her.

“Yeah, he’s a comedian,” Eddie answers with a sigh. “Richie Tozier? Sound familiar, Ma?”

“Oh, yes… I’ve seen him on TV once or twice,” she sniffs, crossing her arms. “He’s not very funny. Just crude.”

_ Yeah, you really wouldn’t like him after hearing all the things he’s had to say about you _ , Eddie thinks, smiling despite himself. “He can be funny. Sometimes.”

His mother just grunts and picks up the remote again, flipping through the channels. “Why don’t I see if anything good is on the History Channel? We can watch a documentary together like we used to. I’ve got our microwave leftovers ready to go—”

“I already ate, actually,” Eddie interrupts, lingering at the bottom of the stairs. He avoids her Lazer Guilt Eyes, hand gripping the handrail leading upstairs. “At, um, at Richie’s. I’m actually pretty tired so I think I’m just going to go to bed. My flight leaves pretty early tomorrow, so—”

“You’re leaving so soon?” She asks, voice crestfallen. “Oh, Eddie, you can’t spare another day for your poor old mother? I only get to see you once a year…”

“I know, but we talked about this,” Eddie squeezes his eyes shut. He refuses to let the guilt creep in. He’s put in too many hours with his therapist back in California to let her try and dig her hooks into him again. “I’ve got a lot of work to do when I get back, Ma. I can’t just put my life on hold so that we can do jigsaw puzzles and watch game shows all day.”

His mother sniffs in preparation for the crocodile tears. “Tell me how you really feel, Eddie-Bear.”

“ _ Goodnight _ , Mama,” Eddie says definitively, already heading up the stairs to where he knows she can’t follow.

_ One night. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOF the length of this chapter really got away from me y'all ^^; if you can't tell, I'm such a sucker for writing family dynamics and introspective stuff...
> 
> as always, the kudos and comments give me life <3 excited to hear what you guys thought of this chapter! thank y'all for sticking through the very deeply in denial Eddie and the slow(ish) burn so far. I promise, it's all going to pay off soon ;)


	6. maybe I should go to hell, but I'm doin' well

Predictably, his mother sleeps in the living room that night so that she’s awoken the next morning at 6 a.m. when he comes down the steps with his suitcase, making it impossible for him to depart under the guise of not wanting to wake her. He sits down for a quick breakfast with her (Mini-Wheats, unfrosted), deflects her concerns about the amount of festering germs lurking on every surface in airports, and ensures her that he’ll call as soon as the plane touches down at LAX.

He’s never more relieved to be back in Los Angeles than after a visit to Derry. He’s not actually as busy as he would lead his mother to believe, but there’s still plenty to be done before the year wraps up.

His tutoring sessions with Peggy continue, but are less frequent now that the big, bad, standardized test is out of the way and the calendar year is officially winding down. He and Richie don’t really talk about their time in Derry, but the strange ships-passing-in-the-night kinship is usually on the forefront of his mind whenever they’re together.

He comes over on a Wednesday morning and Peggy answers the door.

“Dad and Bev are fighting again,” she explains when Eddie looks down at her curiously, expecting one of the adults to let him in as usual. Richie offered him a key ages ago, but it felt too much like another crossed line.

“About what?” Eddie asks, taking his shoes off by the door.

She plops down at the dining room table where they always study, two plates of diced potatoes and peppers waiting alongside a full cup of coffee in what has sort of become “Eddie’s mug”, a bright yellow mug with bold black text reading “WARNING: Do not step on guard dog” next to a picture of a Pomeranian. He stopped bringing his own coffee weeks ago, dignity be damned. “Same as usual. Acting stuff, movie deals.”

Eddie remembers. It’s a significant memory as the one and only time he’s seen Richie pissed off. “Why do they fight about it so much?”

“Dad says he doesn’t like being in front of the camera,” she shrugs. “Are the test grades back yet?”

Peggy has asked him this every day since they returned from Thanksgiving break. “Not yet,” he answers, taking his seat next to her as he pulls today’s worksheets out of his bag. “Soon, okay? I’m sure you did fine.”

He wants to circle back to Richie, but pressing the poor kid about some issue her dad has that she doesn't need or want to be concerned with feels too wrong. He can hear muffled voices from the backyard, recognizing them to be Bev and Richie in another screaming match. They stay out there for the entire study session, Eddie not even seeing so much as a glimpse of them before he leaves.

The second Saturday of December brings about the mid-semester PTA meeting, Eddie having yet to break his perfect attendance streak. It’s not like he  _ loves _ going to these things and hearing parents complain about the most mundane things. He’s always here for the entertainment of it all, and because Oceanside goes all out on the provided snack bar.

Eddie zones out for most of the beginning of the meeting, the minutes covering the Spring meeting drowned out by the catered hors d'oeuvres calling his name.

The topic switching to the standardized testing results does capture his attention. Principal Yung announces that the tests came back with the highest marks that both Oceanside Elementary and the subsequent Middle and High schools have ever seen, with their own Elementary school now having the best results in the entire Southern California district. Eddie contributes to the polite applause, none of that meaning much to him until he can get his hands on his own class’ results.

One of the parent reps gets up to speak about the upcoming Winter band concert and talent show, Eddie tuning out once more. If their school did that well as an average, then surely Peggy couldn’t have bombed, right? She’s been improving on her reading comprehension skills with multi-sensory techniques, and Eddie made sure all of her material moving forward is in a dyslexia-friendly font.

“This is such a fucking snooze fest.”

Eddie nearly takes out a nearby parent with his elbow when Richie’s voice is suddenly whispering in his ear, his flinch causing a few stares from the people seated around him. “What are you doing here?” he whispers, immediately getting shushed from a repeat offender of Asking Unnecessary Questions sitting two rows ahead of him.  _ “Mind your own business, Karen,” _ he hisses before getting out of his chair, pushing Richie towards the back of the room.

“Was her name actually Karen?” Richie asks.

“I have no idea,” he answers, coming to a stop once they're in the back corner and all the glaring has subsided. “What are you doing here?”

Richie widens his eyes and innocently places a hand over his heart. “This is a Parent-Teacher Association, is it not? I am the P in PTA. I can also be the P in—”

“Richie,” Eddie interrupts.

“Okay, fine,” He raises his hands in surrender. “I got an e-mail and thought I’d check it out in case it was a bunch of hot PTA moms mud wrestling over who gets to bring lemon cakes to the next bake sale or whatever. I’m severely disappointed, but I also figured that I might find you here.”

“Well, congrats, you found me. Now if you’ll excuse me—”

“Let’s get out of here.”

Eddie stares at Richie blankly. “Richie, the meeting’s barely started—”

“I know, so let’s dip,” Richie grins. “Come on, don’t even pretend like you find any of this interesting.”

“It’s part of my job, Richie, of course I…” Eddie sighs in frustration at the look Richie gives him, both of them fully aware it’s a lie. “Okay, yes, the meetings can suck sometimes, but I should still stay in case anything pertinent comes up.”

“Someone else will fill you in,” Richie waves a hand. “Live a little, Eds. Let’s play hooky.”

Eddie chews on the inside of his cheek, glancing back towards the stage. Okay, so maybe Richie’s got a point. Eddie has attended every single one of these meetings, and he can’t think of a single thing that’s ever happened that mattered all that much in the grand scheme of things. Really, he would normally just leave with a bad taste in his mouth after listening to the parents complain about things that don’t matter or benefit the kids in any way, constantly making things about themselves.

“What would we go do?” Eddie hedges, not quite willing to agree just yet.

“If I told you, that’d ruin the surprise. It’ll be fun, I promise,” Richie’s grin is as unfortunately infectious as ever, the man clasping his hands together and batting his eyelashes. “Do you trust me?”

Eddie sighs. “No, but whatever you have planned has to be better than this.”

“I’ll take it,” Richie grins, snagging a shrimp off the snack table and popping it into his mouth. “I’ll drive.”

Eddie sighs and glances around the room before he slips out of the back door with Richie, feeling like a kid sneaking out of the house to go hang out with his friends all over again. Friends, is that what they were? It’s hard for someone even as compartmentalized as Eddie to convince himself he and Richie haven’t gotten close over the past few months, despite his best efforts to keep the man at a respectable distance.

Eddie’s never been anything close to  _ friends _ with any of his kids’ parents. It probably has something to do with the naturally abrasive disposition he has towards anyone he meets that’s too old to order off the kid’s menu. Then again, he’s not sure if a parent has ever gone to the same efforts that Richie has to treat him like another human being and not just their child’s teacher.

“We’re coming back for my car,” he grumbles as Richie opens the passenger door for him. “Why are you driving with the top down in  _ December _ , you psycho?”

“It’s like, sixty degrees! Also, now that I know you’re from Derry you literally never get to complain about the temperature ever again,” Richie snickers but lowers the top anyway. “You were probably one of those kids that got bundled up in ten layers of long underwear and those Michelin Man coats, weren’t you? Bet they had to roll you out the door.”

Eddie glowers, only because Richie is 100% correct on his assumption. Sonia wouldn’t let him leave the house in anything less than five layers at the first sign of sticking snow. “Shut up and just let me judge your music taste,” he grumbles, turning up the volume dial as soon as Richie starts the car.

Said music taste is somehow worse than Eddie predicted, Richie’s go-to playlist being a mix of Ska, 90s emo punk, and mid 2000s B-side pop music. Even the discordant array of wailing lead singers is better than trying to navigate a conversation with Richie where he’s sure to say something inappropriate or embarrassing.

Succumbing to Richie’s proposition tonight should be the loud, glaring indicator that maybe Eddie’s allowed himself to be worn down. It seems to be something Richie’s done since the moment they met, chipping away at his cold exterior with an impossibly persistent ice pick. He isn’t entirely impenetrable, but Eddie knows himself. He knows that it’s not easy for him to make friends, evident by his clear lack of them minus the one that he’s known for practically his entire life. He’s got plenty of acquaintances though, enough that he never feels particularly lonely. He’s tried and failed at dating intermittently over the years, his own emotional baggage and unwillingness to commit to being relied on by someone else the usual culprit of his shortcomings in that department. He’s never taken issue with that before.

At least not until Richie came careening into his life with his over-the-top flirting, obnoxious laugh, heinous fashion sense, forearms defined with veins and hair that lead up to his  _ huge  _ hands with those long fingers that are gripping the steering wheel in such a way—

“Do you want the heat turned down?” Richie asks over the music, preferring to shout rather than turn it down for three seconds. “You look warm.”

“I’m fine,” Eddie answers quickly, keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead for the rest of the ride as they head west on the Santa Monica Freeway.

Inching down streets crowded with cars and civilians, they eventually pull into a packed parking lot, Richie’s dumb luck working in their favor as the Mustang finds the last remaining spot outside of a brick building. There’s nothing spectacular about it, a thin and tall three-story building with darkened windows and a flickering neon sign above the door dubbing it as  _ The Usual _ .

Eddie stares at him dubiously. “You brought me to a  _ bar _ ? Richie, we talked about this—”

“Hey, now, it’s not  _ just _ a bar. Would you just trust me?” Richie asks with that hint of a smile that he knows all too well on a Tozier: the telltale omen of trouble to come.

“Not  _ just  _ a bar,” Eddie echoes back condescendingly, shaking his head. “I guess it’s a club then too? Some weird, underground, sex den?”

“Guess you’ll have to come inside to find out,” Richie shrugs and gets out of the car, already headed for the double doors without bothering to wait for Eddie.

He exhales sharply and throws the door open, jogging to catch up. The guy at the door just nods to Richie and pays Eddie no mind as he slips in behind him, eyes taking a moment to adjust to the darkness. It’s nicer inside than he expects, having some of that hole-in-the-wall charm without being completely derelict. There’s a bar upstairs and downstairs, as well as a third level above that’s made up of balconies overlooking the small stage against the far wall where two women are currently singing with dual guitars and raspy, dulcet tones. The round tables and booths on the bottom floor are overcrowded, loose chairs dragged from all over to accommodate everyone’s needs. Richie moves through the crowd with ease, side-stepping through the crowds as he leads Eddie towards the less cramped end of the bar.

“Heya, Rich,” a cute brunette mixing a cocktail greets with familiarity as soon as they cross into her field of vision. She barely looks old enough to even be in a place like this, let alone be the one behind the bar.

“Hey, Brynne. Hook my pal Eddie here up tonight, would ya?” He requests, the two of them sharing a nod before she walks down the bar to help the other patrons already seated. He gestures for Eddie to have a seat but doesn’t claim the open bar stool next to him for himself. “Order whatever you want, it’s on me. I’ll be back in a bit.”

Eddie reaches out and catches the edge of Richie’s jacket sleeve, the leather worn but supple beneath his grasp. “You drag me all the way to Culver City then make me drink alone?” He asks incredulously.

“Eds,” Richie says calmly, in that stupid way he always says Eddie’s name like it’s some sort of endearment he’s been using for years. He doesn’t remove Eddie’s hand like he expects, so he yanks it back himself. “You’re way too wound up right now. Just have a drink, loosen up a little, and I’ll be right here with you in a flash. We’re not at school right now; You  _ do  _ know how to relax, right?”

“Yes, I know how to  _ relax _ ,” Eddie bites back just as Brynne returns to their end of the bar. He turns to her, forcing a smile despite his irritation with Richie. “Can I get a rum and coke?”

“Make it a double,” Richie adds with a wink before slipping away into the crowd.

Eddie is so tired already he doesn’t even argue, just nodding to Brynne who quickly makes him the drink. He takes a sip and barely manages to save face, the added alcohol definitely something he isn’t used to. He doesn’t drink very often, occasionally grabbing a beer with friends from college or helping Bill with the aged whiskey in his home office. The teachers at school held a New Years party last year where Eddie got completely blitzed off of champagne, and since making a mockery of himself at karaoke he’s decided to cut back.

The two women on stage finish their set, Eddie joining the applause as they walk off stage and a man steps up to the microphone. “Fabulous as always, ladies. Let’s give it up one more time for  _ Autumn Rising _ , find ‘em on Spotify.” The crowd applauds again. “Now, I’d like to welcome to the stage an old favorite of ours who’s been doing stand-up here for a few years now. You may know him as Trashmouth, but to us, he’s Richie. Please hold your applause… for Rich Tozier.”

People clap and whistle anyway, murmurings of surprise and excitement going up around Eddie. He’s surprised himself, glancing around the tiny, overcrowded venue. From what he could see both outside and inside, there’s nothing advertising that Richie would be doing a show tonight, and he half expects this to be some kind of prank. But Richie doesn’t return to his side and make fun of his shocked expression, as he’s too busy stepping up in front of the single spotlight, raising his hands to the overzealous audience.

“Thank you, thank you,” he says into the mic, turning and smiling towards the MC standing off stage. “And, please, call me Richie, Trashmouth was my  _ father _ . Actually, I’m just now realizing the irony of that statement considering he’s a dentist. No wonder he hates my comedy career. It definitely has to do with that fucking nickname and not the fact that I spend most of my time talking about my cock on stage.” Amidst the laughter is some cheering as well, both from men and women. Richie makes a _ whoa, there  _ face and holds up a hand, garnering more laughs. “Hey, now, I’m not just a one trick pony. I’ve decided recently to expand my horizons. Now, I talk about other guys’ cocks too.”

Eddie snorts into his drink, realizing he’s already down to the ice. The moment he pushes the glass away from him, Brynne deposits another one without any prompting. He takes an experimental sip, thankful that she decided  _ not  _ to make another double.

“Has anyone here seen the new show?” Richie asks, getting about a dozen or so hollers and claps, as well as one guy yelling a complaint that it was sold out. “Hey, it’s not my fault I’m popular. Maybe if you had Ticketmaster in your bookmarks instead of Pornhub, you could’ve gotten tickets for you and your mom.” Some laughter and  _ ooohs _ from the crowd. Richie holds a sympathetic hand over his heart. “Hey, hey, don’t worry, I’m not going to talk about your mom— expanded horizons, remember?— Your dad however… Nah, I’m not really into the DILF game. I get that it may be appealing to some of you young folk because you’re in your twenties, you’re immortal, no one can tell you shit, and if you  _ don’t  _ want to bone your silver fox professor at West Los Angeles College, then  _ you’re _ considered the weird one.” Agreeable cheers from all the early-twenty-somethings in the audience. “Me, however, I’m too old for all that shit  _ and  _ I’ve got a kid myself. It’s hard to throw it back for some hot Daddy in WeHo when I spend my days throwing  _ out  _ my back playing catch with my daughter. But to circle back and continue talking about my child and gay sex in the same bit... Yes, I am a father— Thank you, thank you, please don’t cheer for twenty-five year-old me having unprotected sex with my ex-girlfriend at the time because _ ‘oh my god, Richie, like every couple has break-up sex, stop being so weird about it, what’s the worst thing that could happen?’ _ ”

Eddie scrutinizes that part of the show, trying to pinpoint whether or not Richie’s making up this scenario for comedy purposes, or if there’s any kind of nugget of truth buried beneath all the laughter. Richie continues the set talking about his attempts to navigate the gay dating scene, Eddie feeling his face burn on more than one occasion. He finds himself sipping at his drink every time Richie describes any aspect of what he looks or sounds like when he’s hooking up with a guy _ ‘whether he tops or bottoms, because he doesn’t discriminate’,  _ just to serve as a distraction. This results in his second rum and coke being polished off before the set ends. Eddie’s already starting to feel the effects, but it also makes the laughter come easier and some of the tension in his shoulders fades. How is it that Richie knew this was something he needed when he didn’t even know himself?

He accepts a third rum and coke from Brynne but asks for a water to go with it, determined on staying hydrated to avoid tomorrow’s hangover. Richie wraps up his fifteen minute set, the applause following him as he exits the stage and the MC steps back up to tell people to look out for Richie’s next stand-up show hitting Netflix next Spring.

Eddie ignores the fluttering in his chest as his eyes follow Richie through the crowd, seeing him stopped every few feet for a fan to talk to him or ask for a picture or autograph. Unlike Richie, he’s allowed to let his impatience show, stirring his drink with his straw as his other hand taps against the cured wood of the bar.

“So how long have you and Richie been together?”

Eddie swivels around on his barstool, looking at Brynne in surprise. With the sudden attention on Richie, the bar has become a little less crowded and has given her a moment of respite as she gathers her tips and empty glasses.

“What?— No, I— Richie and I aren’t together,” he fumbles, tongue loosened from the drinks.

“Oh,” Brynne looks confused, glancing between them. “Sorry. I thought maybe you were that twunk from the Trader Joe’s parking lot he mentioned.”

Eddie doesn’t know how to respond to that, Brynne sparing him by walking away to close out the tabs of the frat guys sitting at the other end of the bar who have been catcalling her all evening.

_ Am I a twunk? _ Eddie ponders.  _ And if I am, is that Richie’s type? _

“Hey!” Richie greets from behind him, Eddie jumping in alarm for the second time in the very short span of a minute. “So? What did you think?”

Richie’s eyes are wide behind his glasses, hope striking through beneath the reflections of the purple and blue lights above the bar. There’s still a bit of sweat shining on his brow and his upper lip as a result from the stage light shining down on him, his body retaining some of that warmth. He can practically  _ feel _ the heat emanating from Richie's body as he forgets himself, arm outstretched to hold himself up against the bar, leaning into Eddie’s space.

“Eds? Hello?” Richie reaches out, hand like a searing iron as it rests against his shoulder, Eddie so distracted by the scent of his cologne that it could be melting right through his jacket, his sweater, and the t-shirt underneath and he wouldn’t even notice. “Jesus, how many of those have you had?” He removes his hand to pick the almost-gone third rum and coke off of the bar, inspecting it.

“Barely any,” Eddie responds stubbornly, finally able to recall how speaking works.

“Alright, sure,” Richie chuckles and takes a seat next to Eddie, lifting two fingers towards Brynne who nods to him and brings over a large glass of ice water. “So, let’s hear it. Your honest opinion.”

Sluggishly, Eddie picks up on the upward tick in his voice, the anxious energy of his hands as he pulls the water close to him, fingers dragging against the condensation on the glass. He’s nervous. “I thought it was really good,” Eddie says with complete honesty. “I think if your last tour was even a fraction of the kind of stuff you talked about up there, it’s going to be your best one yet.”

Richie’s eyes flicker up to his face, seeking out any platitudes, waiting for the punchline. It makes Eddie wonder if maybe he’s been a little too  _ mean  _ with Richie in the past, knowing it’s something he’s had to work past with most of his friends.  _ Acquaintances _ . Where does Richie fall over that line? Does he fall to either side or in his own, separate category, one he created for himself somewhere inside of Eddie’s head and heart without giving him time to notice?

“I mean, I could’ve done without having to picture exactly how hairy your ass is,” Eddie blurts out, making quick work of kicking dirt over the tracks of his sentiment. “How did you describe it again?”

“Like a reverse baboon,” Richie laughs, nodding his head fondly. “Stan made me cut that one out of the show. That’s a dive bar tour exclusive.”

“Speaking of,” Eddie glances around the still-packed venue, seeing a four-piece band set up on stage as the next act. “What’s up with the tight fifteen on a stage like this, Mr. Sold Out Tour?”

“Using stand up terminology and calling me Mr. Sold Out Tour in the same sentence? You’re not being fair, Mr. K,” he bemoans, smirking against the rim of his glass. Eddie feels his face flush, resolutely blaming the rum for that one as Richie continues, “I like to do shows like this every once in a while— quick sets, no marquee or announcements. It keeps me fresh and helps me workshop some stuff, but mostly… I don’t know, it’s nice to go back to my roots. I never expected my comedy career to take off the way it has, and as cheesy as it sounds I don’t want to forget where I came from.” He glances over his shoulder, looking around the bar fondly. “Stan and Bev hated the idea at first. People pay big money to see or meet me, and here I was, wanting to sling jokes in hole-in-the-wall places with no kind of announcements or anything. But word travelled fast about these little ‘pop-ups’. People find it  _ charming _ , I guess.”

“You  _ are  _ charming,” Eddie scoffs, unthinking.

The grin Richie turns on him makes his stomach flip, a reaction he might mistake for repulsion had it not been for his heart stuttering in his chest. “How many of those have you had?” He asks again.

“Too many,” Eddie sighs mournfully, pushing the glass a few inches out of reach. The alcohol is really starting to catch up to him now, the hanging lights above them seeming to sway overhead, leaving gauzy trails of light behind them. 

He reaches for the water Brynne had brought over to him, fingers brushing against Richie’s as the other man pushes the glass towards him. Neither of them flinch away as expected, Eddie’s fingertips resting against Richie’s knuckles for a beat too long before he picks up the glass.

“What about you?” He asks in an attempt to shift attention, looking at Richie’s glass of water. “You open a tab just for me and don’t even get something for yourself?”

Richie laughs uncomfortably, running a hand through his hair to further muss it. “Just don’t wanna embarrass myself anymore than I already do in front of you.”

Eddie outstretches his foot, nudging one of the barstool legs beneath Richie and accidentally brushing up against his ankle as he does so. “What’s there to be embarrassed about? Want me to cover my ears so you can order your favorite fruity drink?” It’s not like Eddie would be one to judge if Richie had a penchant for appletinis— though he struck him as more of a vodka Redbull kind of guy.

He expects some kind of snappy reply to his ribbing, but Richie just continues to rub at the short hairs curling off the back of his neck while avoiding his eyes. Realization suddenly takes pity on Eddie’s inebriated mind, his teasing smile fading.

“Richie.”

“Hm?”

“Do you... not drink?”

“I drove us here,” he scoffs as a non-answer.

“Lyft’s exist,” Eddie volleys, Richie’s stiff expression unchanging. His gaze stays averted, hand fidgeting against the bar. “It’s okay if you don’t,” Eddie adds hastily. “I just… I’ve noticed anytime there’s alcohol around you normally don’t... partake.”

“Uh… yeah,” Richie shifts uncomfortably on his barstool. His arms cross, his shoulders hunch, and the walls Eddie didn’t realize a man as open as Richie had are suddenly erected between them. “I don’t really talk about it.”

“Not even in therapy?”

“I don’t go to therapy.”

“Everyone should go to therapy.”

“Is that your child psychology degree talking?”

“Partially, but it’s probably more my two years as a child therapist talking,” he snaps before pressing his lips together. “Sorry. I get kind of bitchy when I drink.”

“So what’s your excuse when you’re sober?” Richie asks with a grin.

Eddie shoves at his arm before facing the bar again, resting his chin in his hands. “Seriously, though, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to… But if you ever do want to, I’m a pretty good listener.”

Richie emits a sound that’s half-way between a groan and a sigh. “Alright, I’ll play along with the share-your-feelings crap, but then you have to indulge me in some of your own personal shit, deal?”

“That sounds… fair,” Eddie allows cautiously, worry prickling at the nape of his neck when only two things come to mind, one of which being his relationship with a mother that may spiral him into a panic attack if he tries to talk about it while drunk. The other one… well, it’s still not ideal.

“Alright then,” Richie folds his impossibly long fingers together in front of him. “Ask me whatever you want to know.”

“How long have you been sober?”

Richie pauses as if he wasn’t expecting that exact question. “Six years,” he answers after a beat.

“Wow, congratulations,” Eddie breathes. “Seriously, that’s amazing, Richie.”

Richie makes a disgusted noise in the back of his throat, shaking his head. “It’s not. Not when I should’ve quit way earlier than that.”

Even a drunk Eddie doesn’t have to work that hard on the math. “You mean because of Peggy.” Richie’s jaw clenches and Eddie can’t stop himself from reaching out to rest his hand over Richie’s, fingers brushing along the exposed skin of his wrist. “Richie, the only thing that matters is that you  _ did  _ get sober.”

“Yeah, let’s all celebrate the loser comedian who barely kept custody of his kid because his SNL co-stars had to drag him to rehab kicking and screaming,” The biting disgust is thick in his voice, Eddie never hearing such venom from him before. “I was the fucking  _ poster child _ for all stoner college drop-outs who move to New York hoping to make it big. It started innocent enough— Isn’t that what they always say?— A few shots here, a quick toke there, just something to take the edge off before I got on stage. But then I started blowing up; The pressure was on now. I’d have to be stoned or drunk off my mind just to feel like I was  _ funny _ . Before too long, pot just wasn’t doing it for me anymore, especially not when I was surrounded by a bunch of other twenty-somethings in showbiz. Poppers, LSD, coke, whatever party drugs were making their circulation around the East Village at the time— I’d do it all. D.A.R.E. would be knocking down my door if Stan wasn’t so good at covering my ass,” Richie laughs at himself bitterly, mouth twisted into a sneer. 

His arm has gone completely stiff, Eddie retracting his hand in a silent apology.

“SNL was the last nail in the coffin,” Richie continues, staring at the wall behind the bar as if Eddie isn’t even there next to him. “I was still doing all that shit when I was just a writer, but then suddenly I was part of the main cast. I felt so out of my element there, I did whatever I could just to get through the week,” he finally glances over towards Eddie, brow furrowed behind the dark frame of his glasses. “This is probably where the therapist would talk about my tendencies to  _ self-sabotage _ , or whatever. I’d get too fucking high to even hold a pencil long enough to write any of my own jokes, so they had to hire other people to do it for me. It took a PA catching me shooting up in the bathroom between skits for them to finally kick me off.”

“And you went to rehab after that?” Eddie implores gently.

Richie nods. “Three months. Haven’t touched a thing since.”

“That must’ve been hard,” Eddie sympathizes, hoping he doesn’t sound too stereotypical.

To his surprise, Richie shakes his head. “That’s where you’re wrong. Quitting was one of the easiest things I could do, because all I had to do was think about Peggy. I think about her, this kid that somehow has half of my fuck-up genes and manages to be the best goddamn kid in the whole world, and it’s impossible to even think about having a drink or a smoke of anything.”

“Is that why you keep turning down on-camera work?” Eddie asks out of genuine curiosity. “You’re afraid of falling back into it?”

“You psycho-analyzing me now?” Richie snorts, but indulges him anyway. “That’s part of it, I guess. I decided if I’m going to keep being in the industry that put me over the edge in the first place, I’m doing it on my own terms: behind the camera only with the exception of my stand-up. Plus, becoming a successful actor completely changed my ex, and Peggy doesn’t need two parents like that. I’m the more sane one, believe it or not.”

“Your ex?” Eddie probes, ears specifically perking at the mention of said ex being Peggy’s mother.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Richie shakes his head. “You’ve got all you’re gonna get out of me for one night, no matter how much you beg with those fucking Babmi eyes. It’s your turn.”

Eddie waves a hand, taking a large gulp of his water to distract himself. “I’m not like you, Richie; I’ve led a remarkably boring life.”

“You’re a shit liar, Kaspbrak,” Richie laughs, easily seeing past the bluff. “Come on, there must be  _ something _ .”

Eddie sighs in surrender, running a hand through his carefully combed locks. “Yes, but my  _ something  _ just downright humiliating and there’s no triumphant ending like there is with your thing.”

“Tell me anyway,” Richie needles, glancing back towards the empty rum and coke. “If I order you another one of those, will you loosen those sweet lips?”

Eddie hesitates for a beat too long, which is all the encouragement Richie needs to turn and wave down Brynne, pointing at Eddie’s glass. She just nods and has them a fresh rum and coke before Eddie can bother to protest.

“There you go, liquid courage,” Richie grins. “Now cough it up.”

Eddie sighs through his nose and brings the straw to his lips against his better judgement. The conversation had sobered him somewhat, but not enough to be able to talk about  _ this  _ with Richie grinning at him like  _ that _ . He drains half of the glass before lifting his head, fiddling with the straw and listening to the ice clink around before he speaks. “I was engaged… to a woman.”

Silence. Eddie glances over to Richie to see him resting his cheek against his palm, slack-jawed with closed eyes as he emits a fake snore.

“Oh, fuck you!” Eddie shoves at him again, Richie easily dodging the swipe.

“I thought it was going to be good, not you having a beard like half of the gay population,” Richie snickers.

“Well…” Eddie shifts on the barstool, feeling his face heat up. “There’s more than just that.”

Richie looks at him expectantly, eyebrows raised. “I’m sorry, are you waiting for the fucking Queen to arrive before you launch into this tale?”

“I’m getting there!” Eddie argues, getting more and more flustered. Maybe the extra rum and coke was a bad idea.

“I’m on the edge of my seat here, Eds, please,” he gestures for Eddie to continue, Eddie’s gaze lingering on the fluid motion of Richie’s fingers for longer than he’s comfortable with.

“I met her in college,” Eddie starts slowly. “She was a psych major so we had a lot of the same classes early on. We got along, she was a sweet girl, and a good friend… and that’s all I saw her as, but it was clear that she saw me as more. I was still closeted back then, so I thought that maybe if we started dating, it would be obvious to her that I was gay and that she’d be the one to dump  _ me _ .”

“Yes, because that always works out in every sitcom ever,” Richie comments with a shit-eating grin.

“Are you going to let me finish?” Eddie snaps.

Richie smirks at pantomimes zipping his mouth shut.

“Things continued and I got… complacent, I guess. Before I knew it we were living together after we both graduated and she was dropping hints all the time about getting married. I knew it was a mistake the second I proposed, but I was young and stupid and trying so, so,  _ so _ hard to be straight. I didn’t know what to do!” Eddie shoots a glare over at Richie who’s still not so subtly holding back his laughter. “Then I… I realized I was basically about to marry my mother and I chickened out,” Eddie finishes in a rush.

Richie lets out a low whistle. “Damn, that’s cold, Kaspbrak. How did she react when you took back the ring?”

Eddie attaches his lips to the straw again in lieu of answering.

“Eddie…” Richie leans forward, eyes widening. “Eds, did it go further than that?”

“Um,” Eddie coughs, a few droplets of alcohol going down the wrong pipe as he fumbles his words. Richie pats him on the back and it takes all of his self control not to lean into the brief contact. “Yeah, maybe a bit.”

Richie’s mouth falls open. “ _ No. _ ”

“Yes,” he confirms miserably, burying his face in his hands.

“Not on your _ wedding day _ ?!” Richie gasps, sounding way too delighted.

“Stop, this is mortifying,” Eddie moans.

“Were you at the  _ altar _ ?” Richie presses, leaning forward.

Eddie just nods, Richie immediately bursting into fit of hyena-cackles. “Stop!” he practically wails, blindly shoving at Richie’s shoulder. “It was one of the worst moments of my life! There I am, standing at the front of a church in front of three-hundred people who all watch me bolt when Myra is half-way up the aisle!”

The added detail just makes Richie laugh even harder, his face going red as he wipes tears from his eyes. “Damn, Eds, who knew you were such a heartbreaker! I mean— I did, I knew that— but walking out on your  _ wedding day _ ?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “That’s next level, dude.”

“I told you it was bad,” Eddie groans, peeking between his fingers. His face is flushed from more than just the alcohol, the added humiliation of regaling one of the lowest moments of his life turning him beet red. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

Richie’s laughter tapers off when Eddie doesn’t lift his head. “Oh, shit, seriously?” Eddie barely manages a nod before Richie is off the stool and takes hold of him by the elbow, guiding him towards the nearest exit door.

Thankfully, the PTA snack food does not make a reappearance on the pavement as Eddie leans over the railing outside of the back exit. He draws in a few deep breaths of the night’s brisk air, realizing belatedly that the source of that soothing feeling is Richie’s hand rubbing up and down his back.

“I think I’m good,” he mumbles, still white-knuckling the railing as he rides out the wave of nausea. Thinking about the situation with Myra has brought about  _ regurgitative  _ reactions before, but Eddie should’ve known better than to launch into that much detail after drinking  _ four goddamn rum and cokes _ .

“Let me drive you home,” Richie offers, the loss of warmth as he steps away almost making Eddie groan aloud.

_ I hate him _ , Eddie bemoans in his head.

_ No you don’t _ , his rum-addled thoughts supply.

“You don’t have to do that,” Eddie straightens up now, feelings of nausea retreating. “I’ll have to go back to the school and get my car tomorrow anyway. I’ll just get a Lyft.”

“Come on, I almost made you puke talking about your ex-beard, let me do this for you,” Richie attempts with an easy smile, hands in his jacket pockets as he leans against the brick wall.

Eddie shakes his head resolutely, already opening the app on his phone. There’s already about half a dozen cars that are less than three minutes away. “It’s fine, you already drove us here, paid for all my drinks…”  _ And I don’t need this feeling anymore like a date than it already does. _

“Which is why I’m going to feel partially at fault if you blow chunks in the back of some poor Lyft driver’s Toyota Corolla,” he points out.

Eddie simply holds up his phone after confirming the address, waving it at Richie. “Well hopefully Chad keeps barf bags stocked in his  _ Silverado _ .”

“Guy I invited out for drinks whisked away by a  _ Chad _ in an overcompensationally-sized truck,” Richie sighs mournfully. “Might have to add that to the stand-up.”

Both of them seem to realize the implication at the same time, Richie dipping his head and fiddling with his glasses to have something to focus on while Eddie stares at his phone screen, watching the little car icon round another corner and crawl closer to the pick-up spot.

“...Or not,” Richie tacks on lamely, clearing his throat. It does little to clear up the awkward lull of silence that settles over them.

Music filters out from the bar, the volume cresting and falling with every swing of the door. He recognizes the band covering  _ Vienna _ , the soft, crooning, tenor voice of the frontman caressing the back of Eddie’s neck as he stands there, too close to Richie. 

_Slow down, you're doing fine / You can't be everything you want to be before your time /_ _Although it's so romantic on the borderline tonight... Tonight…_

The golden light from the street lamp around the corner outlines Richie with a halo-effect, the rim light tracing every stray curl, the strong line of his shoulders beneath his jacket.

“I don’t know how it would feel to know I’m part of your stand-up,” Eddie confesses suddenly, veering back towards the dangerous topic of what the two of them are or aren’t. “I mean, am I going to have to see a YouTube clip with a million views of you talking about some guy you dragged along to one of your shows who got a little too drunk, talked about his ex- fiancée from ten years ago , and then almost threw up on your shoes?”

Richie smiles at him in that private, lop-sided way he has of smiling when Eddie says something that amuses him. “Well, I’d probably take some creative liberties with the retelling… y’know, embellish a little… in my version you’d  _ definitely  _ have thrown up on my shoes.”

_ Too bad but it's the life you lead / You're so ahead of yourself that you forgot what you need / _ _  
_ _ Though you can see when you're wrong, you know you can’t always see when you’re right… You’re right… _

“Not that it matters,” Richie continues with a dismissive shrug. “Because my stand-up is kind of focused on my dating life right now, and I believe you had a strict rule — What was that, again?”

Drunk enough to be baited, Eddie crosses his arms and leans against the wall next to Richie. “I don’t date my students’ parents,” he answers flatly.

“Ahh, that’s right,” Richie nods with that stupid smirk of his. “So by that logic, this isn’t a date, so you have nothing to worry that pretty little head of yours about.”

_ You’ve got your passion, you’ve got your pride / But don’t you know that only fools are satisfied?... _

“Richie…” Eddie sighs in frustration, not even sure what he’s frustrated about.

“Eds,” Richie responds fondly.

They’re practically touching, bodies inclined towards one another like it’s physically impossible to fight the draw for any longer. Eddie reaches out in the minuscule space between them, a hot knife through butter, his hand grasping one side of Richie’s open jacket. His eyes flicker upwards, watching Richie’s eyebrows hike upwards. One of the longer tufts of his hair, no longer confined by product after the sweat and the anxious ruffling, curls down over his forehead like a scruffy Superman. (Eddie always found Superman a little overrated anyway.) His lips, flushed from some recent biting or pressing together, are now slightly parted, that smug grin retreating the moment he catches the intent in Eddie’s eyes.

“Don’t call me Eds,” Eddie mutters before rocking closer into Richie’s space, tilting his chin upwards as he feels his heels lift off the pavement.

_ Dream on, but don’t imagine they’ll all come true / When will you realize…? _

Rather than feeling the soft slant of Richie’s mouth against his own, Eddie is met with cool air and two strong hands on his shoulders. He’s anchored back down to earth, eyelids fluttering open and staring blankly at Richie, now holding him at arm's length.

It’s not exactly how he was expecting to be held by Richie tonight.

“Eddie,” his name is a cautionary sigh when it leaves Richie’s distractingly pink mouth. “You’ve had a lot to drink tonight.”

It’s not concern. It’s a platitude in the worst form: rejection. On top of that, it’s not something Eddie handles well, especially not when  _ he’s had a lot to drink tonight _ .

Face burning and heart equally aflame, Eddie jerks himself back and out of Richie’s hold. He watches those big hands hover in the spot Eddie once was for a moment, fingers flexing like they want to seek him out once more, only to be dropped in defeat. Humiliation washes over him for the second time tonight, this time far worse. He’d rather talk about Myra in front of a stadium full of people than experience this — being rebuffed by  the man who had come onto him relentlessly for  _ months _ only to back down the moment Eddie decides to act.

_ I’m just trying to protect you from the world out there. People are just going to take advantage of you and hurt you and leave you, but I never will. No one is ever going to love you like I do, Eddie-bear. _ Sonia had drilled into his head from the moment he could comprehend those words.

_ You’re delicate. You need to be taken care of and I’ll always be here to do that for you, no matter what. No one is ever going to love you like I do, Eddie-boo.  _ Myra had sobbed whenever Eddie was on the verge of finding the courage to end things.

“Eddie?” Richie repeats his name again, it now sounding like the beginning of an apology.

“My Lyft is here,” he says coldly, body recovering from the shock and propelling him forward, past Richie, down the stairs. His feet carry him, one in front of the other, intent on getting him as far away from the danger as possible.

“Eddie,” he hears behind him again, Richie sounding like a broken record that Eddie would like to throw against the wall and then stomp into a garbage can at this point. “Eds, hang on — ”

The protesting is arbitrary. Richie doesn’t come after him. He doesn’t chase Eddie down in the parking lot and sweep him up in those stupid leather-clad arms of his. He doesn’t pull Eddie close to his chest, the perfect image of a more grounded, realistic Clark Kent. He doesn’t get a single hand on the car door only for him to be dragged into a kiss before he can get in. But Richie doesn’t do romance; He does comedy. 

And that leaves Eddie on the wrong end of some cruel, drawn-out joke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I upped the chapter amount because I always write way more than my intended outline. Mind ya business about it 👀


	7. teacher needs to see me after school

Eddie manages to avoid Richie for a whopping six days, and the first time he sees him again is breaking up a fight in the school parking lot like they’re thirteen years old.

Before that, though, he has a hangover to nurse and disgrace to wallow in on the morning following The Kiss That Never Was.

Eddie hasn’t dated very much since things ended so disastrously with Myra. He certainly hasn’t gotten to the point of comfort with anyone new where he felt like he could talk about his almost-marriage, but he somehow opened up to Richie without even meaning to. Sure, the alcohol may have helped him along, but given the circumstances that Richie had been so vulnerable with him, he would’ve been able to talk about Myra even sober.

Richie. Richie, with the thick arm hair and the wide chest and the stupid jokes and the worst timing in the world. Richie, the recovering alcoholic and drug addict who cared about taking care of his daughter more than anything else in the world. Richie, who stared at Eddie with so much warmth and attraction in his dark eyes that he had somehow read so, so, completely  _ wrong _ .

“You are an idiot, Edward Kaspbrak,” he mutters into his pillow that morning before dragging himself to the bathroom to try and scrub away last night’s catastrophe.

Eddie doesn’t quite manage that goal, instead choosing to do the very irresponsible thing and jerk off in the shower instead, thinking of Richie while he does it. He imagines how things could've turned out if he decided to be irresponsible more often. If he had allowed those professional lines to be blurred, maybe he wouldn’t have to wonder what it would be like to feel Richie’s lips against his own. He could become well acquainted with the scrape of stubble traveling down his jaw, his neck, his chest. Where would it happen if the gamble of last night’s recklessness had paid off? Would they have been so impatient they’d aim for a quickie in one of the club’s bathroom stalls? Or even— God forbid— The backseat of Richie’s obnoxious Mustang? He pretends the hand around his cock isn’t his own, but is much larger with calloused fingers and hairy knuckles. Hot water beats against the back of his neck as he braces one arm against the shower wall. He imagines the weight of Richie pressed up against his back, bracketing him against the cool tiles as he kisses his way down his spine, dropping to his knees...

Eddie refuses to feel bad about it when he’s done.

He pops a couple of Advil and downs two full glasses of water before mustering enough bravery to retrieve his phone. After five whole minutes of failed searching, he pings its location from his computer, following the ringing sound through his apartment until he finds it amidst the jeans he had abandoned in the hallway after he got home last night.

When he sees five missed texts from Richie, he immediately feels like vomiting again.

_ eddie i'm sorry _

_ i just think you had a lot to drink and i've been there _

_ i didn’t want you to regret it _

_ can we talk about it tomorrow? _

_ at least let me know you got home okay _

As he’s staring at the screen, another text comes in.

_ you alive eds? or am i gonna have to hunt down every chad with an ugly chevy truck in the greater LA area? _

Before he can do something completely idiotic and reply, he swipes out to compose a text to Bill instead.

_ Remind me to never drink again. Ever. _

He gets a response within a few minutes.

_ Uh, oh. Need me to come over? _

While Bill has always had a knack for lifting his spirits, and Eddie is in the market for a distraction, he knows that if his best friend comes over it’s going to turn into a pity party sob fest with Eddie recanting his disaster of a night. He’s not sure if it’s something he can mentally handle right now.

As he’s about to hit send on a flimsy and dismissive reply about just needing to go for a run by himself, he gets another text from Richie.

_ i want to talk about last night. in person _

Eddie stares at the text bubble for a long time before going back to his messages with Bill, erasing the excuse and composing a new text in its place.

_ Can we go for a bike ride like we used to when we were kids? _

Bill replies within seconds, two bike rider emojis tacked onto the end of his message.

_ Hi-yo, Eddie! Away! _

  
  


* * *

The last week of school passes by in a blur, and for the first time Eddie is grateful that his students are mentally checked out for the year because he’s ready to join them in that same boat. Even some of his fellow teachers seem to take notice of his inattentiveness, Eddie doing a poor job of covering his tracks when he’s cornered around the coffee machine in the teacher’s lounge.

The worst part is that he can hardly look at Peggy, let alone chastise her for minor classroom transgressions as the year comes to a close and everything in their environment feels a little more lax. It’s the exact result he’s always tried to avoid with his No Parents rule, but there really weren’t many opportunities before Richie came careening into his life.

No, the blame shouldn’t be placed on anyone else. Eddie can only be disappointed with himself for letting things with Richie get as far as they did. 

With his mind preoccupied by the inconvenience of  _ emotions _ for most of the week, he had forgotten that he signed up to be a door greeter for the Oceanside Winter Talent Show. Normally, the most annoying part of that duty is asking parents for donations (and repeatedly saying “Yes, we take apple pay”), but now the only thing he can focus on is the fact that he has to stand at the front door to the auditorium and see _ every single person _ that comes through.

Richie is unavoidable, but he tries his best.

Eddie is all tense smiles and shifting eyes, making small talk with parents and family members as they file into the school on Friday night, constantly looking towards the back of the loose line of people to see if he can spot Richie before Richie spots him. It’s Bev’s fiery hair that will give him the advantage, Eddie raising false alarms in his head every time a ginger passes through the front entrance of the school.

His vigilance is compromised when Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell talk his ear off about their darling little Annabella for what feels like an hour but is probably closer to five minutes. By the time they accept a program and go inside, Eddie glances up only to lock eyes with Richie as he walks through the school’s front entrance. They both maintain eye contact in the most awkward stand-off ever before Richie looks away first, attention pulled by Beverly and his daughter.

Eddie quickly turns to Mr. Darner, catching his attention. “Alec, I just remembered something I need to handle backstage. I’ll send someone else up to help you out, okay?”

He’s already heading into the auditorium before Mr. Darner can think to question him, fleeing down the aisle to hide out somewhere backstage until Richie gets seated. Not as stealthy of an escape as he’d like considering Richie already saw him, but he certainly couldn’t just stay there and chance Richie not having enough social grace to ignore him.

The other teachers end up needing Eddie’s help anyway as they get all the kids properly lined up and ready to go on stage, as well as de-escalate any impending meltdowns or nervous stomachs. He stiffens a bit when Peggy comes backstage two minutes before the first act goes on, but the child pointedly ignores him and takes her seat against the wall as she waits for her turn.

He still remembers delivering the standardized test results to his class earlier that week, Peggy remaining in her seat after the lunch bell rang to dismiss them.

“That was the bell, Peggy,” Eddie clears his throat as he digs out his own packed lunch, wondering how inappropriate it would be to try and make a break for the teacher’s lounge with a ten-year old tailing him. “You’re going to miss pizza day if you don’t get moving.”

She stares down at the papers clutched tightly in her hands, seemingly unphased by Eddie’s words. “I passed.”

Eddie lingers beside her desk, clutching his sectioned tupperware. “Yes, I know. You did very well.”

Her dark eyes finally rise off the paper—  _ Richie’s eyes _ — brimming with disbelief and borderline confusion as she repeats, “I passed.”

Eddie feels the tip of a blade tickling at the inside of his rib cage, something about her expression making his throat tighten. His eyes stray towards the door. “Well… I told you that you would—”

Unexpected force slams into him, Eddie taking a beat to realize Peggy is glued to his front, arms wrapped tightly around his waist. The embrace furthers that prickling sensation in his chest, the prelude to an incision. Her cheek presses against his sternum, Eddie unable to see her face past the mess of dark coffee curls—  _ Richie’s curls _ . 

_ Stop that _ , he scolds himself.

The onslaught is over as quickly as it began, Peggy stepping away, still clutching the papers to her chest. “My dad said we could all go out to dinner if I passed to celebrate,” she says hopefully, driving the knife in further. “You, me, Dad, and Aunt Bev. Our treat.”

“Oh,” Eddie struggles to keep his voice even, finding for the first time that he’s having difficulty maintaining eye contact with a  _ child _ . “That’s really nice of your dad, but I don’t think—”

“He also said you can pick the restaurant, which I don’t really think is that fair since it’s supposed to be for  _ me _ —”

“Peggy—” Eddie attempts, but the child steamrolls onward.

“—but maybe if you pick somewhere fun like Dave & Busters I’d be okay with—”

“I can’t come to dinner,” Eddie interrupts.

Her excitement falters, her head naturally cocking to the side as she stares up at Eddie in puzzlement. “What? You don’t even know what day—”

“I know, but I— I just can’t,” Eddie scrabbles for purchase of any kind of excuse, his mind totally empty when he’s got a perfectly innocent child in front of him having her triumph dashed by the person who helped her achieve it. “Thank your dad for the offer, you should get to lunch now—”

“I don’t care about some shi— some stupid pizza,” she disputes. “You hang out with us all the time, and it’s not like you’re busy ‘cuz school is over,  _ duh _ . We could even go before the talent show and then come to the school, all four of us.”

With that, the blade sinks in, hilt flush with his heart.

_ All four of us. _ She considers Eddie part of the Us now, this carefully cultivated bubble of hers that she only let her father and Beverly into. Something that matters so much to a child’s development, especially those with the kinds of issues to shoulder that Peggy has. And Eddie had let himself become cavalier, lured in by Richie’s casual smiles and undeterred gestures. He certainly hadn’t been thinking of what was best for Peggy when he had tried to kiss Richie, but he also hadn’t expected such outright rejection.

“When, uh, when did your dad suggest dinner?”

She stares at him with a furrowed brow, the question seemingly irrelevant. “I don’t know, a while ago? I think after you came over to Grandma and Grandpa’s.”

_ Before I fucked everything up then _ , Eddie realizes, trying not to linger on the warmth of that Black Friday memory.

“I brought it up again yesterday since I knew we’d be getting the tests back, but he kinda ignored me,” she adds, unknowingly twisting the knife.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll talk to your dad about it, maybe we can figure something out,” Eddie finally settles on dismissal as the best course of action, not needing Peggy to poke and prod at the subject any further. “Go to lunch, Peggy.”

Seemingly sated for now, she rolls her eyes and tucks her returned test into her Captain Marvel binder with more care than she usually treats her papers with, another pang echoing in Eddie’s chest when he thinks of how far she’s come from throwing away the assignments as soon as they’ve been handed back. Richie probably has a reserved spot on the fridge waiting for her when she gets home.

“Maybe you can ask him why he’s been so weird lately when you talk to him,” she says offhandedly, walking out the door before Eddie can think to question her further. He narrowly catches a muttered  _ “Adults are stupid”  _ on her way out.

If Richie received word of Eddie awkwardly rejecting Peggy’s dinner invitation, he doesn’t press the matter further. Eddie’s phone remains devoid of any new texts, a fact he’s painfully aware of with the amount of times he reopens their messages and stares at the last text he received, Richie requesting they talk in person.

Now, he lingers backstage instead of returning to his position, sure that Ms. Sutherland who took his place is handling the stragglers just fine out front. Truthfully, he doesn’t want to risk any possibility of bumping into Richie tonight, despite the amount of times he’s rehearsed what he might say to him should their paths unfortunately converge.

The little singers, dancers, and magicians earn the generous applause of parents as they go on one after another, Eddie checking the list half-way into the show and seeing Peggy is on deck. When he turns to check in on her, he finds an empty chair where she was previously seated. Moving as quietly as he can around the left wing, he finds her at the edge of the main curtain, peeking out just enough to see the audience with them hopefully not seeing her.

“Hey,” he gets her attention quietly. “Peggy, are you ready to go on?”

She doesn’t look back at him, still scanning the auditorium. “Could I… Could I go on later?”

“We have an order, Peggy,” he says regrettably, glancing over the names. “It wouldn’t be fair to the other kids and the stagehands who have to set things up for the right performers… Are you nervous?”

“ _ No _ , I’m just…” she sighs in frustration and drops the curtain. “Doesn’t matter. I’m next?”

Eddie hesitates before nodding and guiding her to the edge of the curtain closer to center stage. Now that she’s closer to the stage lights, he can see that she almost looks… disappointed.

“Hey,” Eddie reaches out and gives her a little tap on the back, smiling encouragingly. “You’re gonna kill it.”

She barely returns the smile, but it’s there nonetheless. “Thanks, Mr. K,” she sighs quietly, almost lost as the crowd’s applause rises and falls for Allie Grossman’s ribbon twirling. The backdrop shifts in color and a single microphone on a stand is placed at the front of the stage. She squares her little shoulders with more professionalism than he’s used to seeing, and walks out onto the stage.

And kill it, she does. Whatever albatross had been hanging around her neck backstage has been lifted by the time the spotlight hits her. To no one’s surprise, Peggy Tozier chose to do a stand-up routine as her talent tonight. It’s a good thing she’s the only child getting on that stage to do so, because anyone else who would make an attempt would pale in comparison. The entire audience is laughing from start to finish, Peggy earning genuine, loud, belly-laughs, not just placating chuckles from the packed room. The jokes tiptoe the borderline of being too crass to come out of a ten-year-old’s mouth, but she adheres to the No Swearing policy that Eddie and the other teachers had to reiterate time and time again. Even though he read her set beforehand (to make sure she followed previously stated No Swearing policy), her delivery still makes him laugh out loud from the wings.

Eddie can’t help but peek out from behind the curtain himself while she performs, quickly finding Beverly and Richie’s shrouded forms in the audience. He doesn’t need to worry about being spotted, Richie’s eyes glued to his daughter and shining with pride, a huge smile plastered across his face for the entire tight five.

As soon as the last laugh lands, Peggy takes a bow and exits stage left, Eddie losing her figure as it disappears into the darkness. He’d have to try and congratulate her later.

With Peggy admittedly being the only performer Eddie really wanted to see, he relieves Ms. Sutherland of door duty and takes up his original position. The talent show will end in the next thirty minutes or so, and at that point, surely his nerves will be steeled enough to hopefully face Richie when he comes through the double doors.

After opening the door for the occasional sibling or parent sneaking back into the auditorium from a bathroom break, Eddie takes notice of a figure in a long white coat lingering outside of the front doors of the school. All he can catch through the glass panes is blonde hair pulled back in a severe updo, and what looks like a cloud of smoke leaving her lips.

Expecting a vape or even a cigarette, Eddie’s shocked to come through the front doors only to see the woman holding a lit joint.

They stare at each other for a moment, Eddie somewhat stunned, the woman somewhat annoyed. “You can’t smoke that here.”

She arches an eyebrow. “It’s legal.”

“Not on school property, it’s not,” Eddie replies smoothly, not breaking eye contact.

Her lips curl into a smile as she blows another stream of smoke out through her perfectly straight and white teeth. “Gonna confiscate my doobie, Mr. Teacher Man?” She asks challengingly.

“No, but you can toss it right there,” he nods to the trash can behind her before pushing the door open. “If you’re here for the talent show, it’s already started. There might be some standing room towards the back.”

She taps off a bit of ash off the end of her dying joint before pointedly flicking it into the trash can, still smirking at Eddie as he holds the door open for her. “Thanks for the tip,” she drawls, saccharine sweet as she winks at him before heading inside.

He shakes his head in disbelief after she enters the auditorium, waving away a bit of the lingering smoke and stench before going back in himself to prop open the exit doors for when everyone starts to flood out.

He’s determined to find Richie and erase the moment of cowardice from earlier, wondering if heading straight for the parking lot to try and intercept him there is the best plan-of-action. He’s still not entirely sure what he wants to say, muttering nonsensical apologies to himself as he walks down an empty hallway.

“Hey.”

Eddie stops and turns around, heart stuttering for a moment. “Hi, Beverly.”

Her mouth is drawn in a tight line, her arms loosely crossed as she walks towards him. “He and Peggy have already gone out to the car,” she says, watching Eddie’s eyes jump around behind her as if Richie might turn the corner at any moment. “Since Richie won’t tell me whatever the hell is going on with you two and is making my life much harder because of it, I figured I should just come talk to you myself.”

Eddie’s hands flex at his sides. “There’s nothing going on with Richie and me,” he attempts lamely.

She doesn’t even pretend to entertain the statement, sighing sharply through her nose. “Listen, I know Richie can be a complete fucking idiot sometimes, but he’s my idiot, and seeing him torn up like this isn’t easy for me,” sympathy seeps into her tone, her expression softening as she stands before him. “He told you about… his past? His issues?”

Eddie swallows and nods.

Beverly nods for Eddie to fall into step with her, posture easing by a degree as they walk down the hallway together. “I’ve seen Richie at his absolute worst. I’ve been right there at his side for all the backslides, the enablers… I’ve picked him up from rock bottom and brushed him off more times than I can count, and he’s done the exact same for me. He’s my best friend, Eddie.”

“He’s… he’s a good friend,” Eddie nods, lungs feeling tight. “I’m not sure where you’re going with this, Bev.”

“Richie’s never voluntarily told a single person about that,” she states, fixing a serious stare on him.

Eddie stares straight ahead, shaking his head. “It was just some stupid little bar game. He was just trying to get me to open up and share my own baggage with him—”

“Do you really think Richie would’ve told you all of that if he didn’t want you to know?” Beverly interrupts, scoffing. “He may have disguised it at some stupid little bar game, but I’m here to tell you that he’d only be  _ that  _ vulnerable with someone if he were in it for the long haul.”

Eddie comes to a stop as they reach the back door, heart unable to carry this heavy load for a moment longer. “I thought so too, but… I don’t know, Bev. I must’ve screwed something up along the way.”

She sighs. “You two are perfect for each other, I swear.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Eddie doesn’t receive an answer, Bev’s attention suddenly drawn elsewhere as she squints through the glass door leading outside. “Oh,  _ shit _ ,” she hisses, immediately pushing the door open and rushing out to the parking lot.

“What?” Eddie asks, hurrying down the steps to catch up to her.

“Hurricane  _ Cassie _ , that’s what,” she growls under her breath, striding towards what Eddie now sees is a dispersed crowd loosely gathered around the edge of the lot. As he passes by another row of cars, he can see Richie arguing with someone— The same woman from before who thought it was an okay idea to smoke a joint on the front steps of an Elementary school.

_ Oh _ , the realization hits him a moment too late, his body feeling like it’s been doused in ice water.

“—Can we not do this here?” Richie is pleading in a hushed tone. As Eddie approaches, he can now see Peggy standing behind him, Richie shielding her from the woman with a protective arm.

“She’s my daughter too,” the woman claims loudly, elbows cutting out a sharp silhouette as she places her hands on her hips.

“Cassie,  _ not here _ —” Richie repeats, turning when Bev strides into view.

“ _ Beverly _ ,” The blonde greets, baring her teeth in a shark-like smile.

“ _ Cassandra _ ,” Bev returns just as icily, holding out her hand towards Peggy without looking away from the other woman. “Peg, come to the car with me. Now.”

The child takes Bev’s hand without hesitation, glancing worriedly over her shoulder.

“Maybe if your husband hadn’t left you, you’d have a kid of your own to drag off,” Cassandra calls after Beverly, her fabricated smile only growing more cruel.

Bev doesn’t acknowledge the insult, Richie stepping forward to break the line of sight anyway. “Cass, lay the  _ fuck  _ off,” he warns lowly.

“Your  _ assistant  _ does know that  _ ‘godmother’  _ is a bogus title, right?” she sneers, dark red acrylics looking like blood-stained claws as they form air quotes. “I’m sick of her acting like she has more of a right to mother Peggy than _ I  _ do.”

Richie laughs hollowly, raking a hand carelessly through his hair. “ _ You _ weren’t the one sitting next to me in that theater, Cass, Bev was.”

“I showed up, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t even see her perform!” Richie finally bursts, discretion be damned. “You  _ missed  _ it! I invited you tonight because I thought you might actually give a shit, but of course you prove me wrong.”

“You sure did wait until the last minute to invite me,” She snaps back. “You just  _ love  _ setting me up for failure—”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Eddie walks into view. As unready as he is to truly face Richie, especially in circumstances like this, he can’t watch this car wreck any longer. “Let’s not have this conversation out here in front of the kids, yeah?”

“Eds,” Richie breathes his name with the weight of a feather, but it still lands like a punch to the gut.

“ _ Eds? _ ” Cassandra questions dubiously, arching a dangerous brow as her stormy eyes rake over Eddie’s form. “You did always have a type in men, Rich. Stay out of this, sweetheart.”

“Jesus Christ— He’s Peggy’s  _ teacher _ , you hag,” Richie rolls his eyes. “Which you would know if you bothered to be as dedicated to your daughter as you are your instagram sponsors.”

Cassie’s eyes jump back to Richie at the insult before landing on Eddie again, her expression changing as she registers where she’s seen his face before. “Oh, Mr. Teacher Man,” she acknowledges huskily, head cocking to the side. “Always around the corner to break up the fun, hm?”

Eddie steps forward, unhindered by her feline poise and marauding gaze. She and Richie are still standing a few feet apart, but he puts himself between them anyway. This isn’t the first time he’s had to intervene with catty adults who decide to drag their personal drama into school events, and it certainly won’t be the last. “This doesn’t seem particularly  _ fun  _ for anyone, except maybe all the parents still standing around watching so they can gossip to their friends about it later.”

That seems to leave an indent on the woman’s icy exterior, the corner of her lip twitching as whatever venom she had prepared as a response dies on her tongue.

Eddie feels emboldened by it, smiling pleasantly as he holds his hands out and looks between them. “Now, if there’s a real issue here, I can call over our SRO to help settle things peacefully. But if you two are done making a scene, I’ll have to ask you to return to your respective vehicles and have this discussion elsewhere.” He can’t show favor to Richie right now, even if he can recognize what a heinous witch of a woman it is that he shares a child with.

Richie stifles a smirk anyway as Eddie enacts his “teacher voice”, something he’s relentlessly teased him about whenever it’s come out in the past. “Know any good counselors?” He asks.

“Not for whatever this is,” he replies dully, glancing away from Richie before the man can draw a real smile out of him.

Cassandra doesn’t seem to have pieced together any kind of deeper connection despite her snide remark from earlier, arms smoothly crossed over her chest as her composure returns. “We have our ways of sorting out our problems, don’t we, Darling? So, after Peggy goes to sleep, my place, or yours?”

The implication makes Eddie’s skin crawl, jealousy flaring up in his chest. He can’t help but watch Richie’s face carefully, finding nothing there but exhaustion.

“I’m not your fucking  _ Darling _ ,” he mutters under his breath. “I’ll call you tomorrow, unless you have my number blocked again?”

The thin, cat-like smile returns, Cassandra seemingly satisfied with the outcome even if Eddie clipped her wings as far as dramatics went. “You know where to find me if I don’t pick up,” she departs coldly, heels clicking across the pavement as she goes.

“Yeah, I’ll just comb through every C-list movie set around Burbank and find the trailer with beheaded PA’s hanging over the door to serve as a warning,” Richie grumbles, definitely loud enough for her retreating form to hear.

“Alright, everyone, show’s over,” Eddie says loudly to the lingering onlookers, waving a hand. “Go home and tell your kids you love ‘em.”

The remaining crowd disperses disappointingly, leaving Eddie and Richie facing each other in the wake. He’s standing close enough, able to smell Richie’s Suave Kids watermelon 2-in-1 that he  _ swears  _ works the best on his hair. There’s other little things that hit him all at once, too. His stubble is a little more managed than usual, a fresh nick visible on his neck from shaving earlier that night. He’s wearing a navy blue suede sports coat over one of his more tame button-ups, his jeans more form-fitting and lacking any kind of snack food stains. He wanted to look  _ nice _ , tonight.

_ Was that for Peggy, or was that for me? _ Eddie wonders fleetingly.

“Eddie—” Whatever it was Richie was planning to say gets snuffed out somewhere between his brain and his mouth, leaving him just staring at Eddie with slightly parted lips.

“Christ, Trashmouth,” Eddie laughs tersely, struggling to shift his focus away from said mouth. “We don’t talk for a week and all you can do is say my name like some kind of neanderthal?”

Richie’s jaw tightens. The banter doesn’t elicit a laugh. “We should talk,” he says seriously.

Eddie can tell the confrontation has successfully depleted any good humor Richie might’ve had tonight, his own smile fading in response. “Not here,” Eddie shakes his head, echoing Richie’s earlier words back at him. He glances towards Bev’s parked SUV, unable to make anything out past the tinted windows. “Go. Your daughter needs you right now.”

Richie looks like he wants to argue, but his mouth snaps shut. He nods stiffly, eyes lingering on Eddie for a beat longer before he turns away, stubbornly conceding.

The moment Eddie gets home, he pulls out his phone and opens Richie’s Wikipedia page. He’s avoided it for as long as he could, but after tonight’s altercation, it no longer feels like there are any lines left to cross.

He takes a deep breath and scrolls down to  _ Personal Life _ .

Tozier confirmed his relationship with actress  **_Cassandra Reed_ ** in February of 2007, after much speculation since being spotted together throughout 2006. The relationship ended in July 2010, shortly after the birth of their daughter, Margaret Tozier. Tozier has mentioned in an interview with  _ Rolling Stone _ from 2016 that he has _ “full custody [...] but I’m not trying to keep [Margaret] away from her mom if she wants to see her.” _

Tozier came out as  **_bisexual_ ** in 2019 via a  **_tweet_ ** announcing his upcoming stand-up tour,  **_“Bi the Way”_ ** . His representatives have declined for any public comments regarding his sexuality since Tozier’s coming out.

His thumb hovers over the blue text of  _ Cassandra Reed _ . He shouldn’t. He’s managed to keep himself from even reading  _ this far _ into Richie’s life for months, and now he’s going to continue down the slippery slope that is reading about his ex? He looks over at the side of the page where there’s a picture of Richie standing next to the woman he recognizes from the talent show. They’re at some kind of red carpet event, looking uncoordinated and uncomfortable as they stand next to each other, Richie’s hand resting on her back while also trying to stand as far away from her as possible. Neither of them are smiling. Richie looks stressed and is missing his glasses. He doesn’t look like himself.

Eddie locks his phone and tosses it onto the couch next to him with a little more force than necessary. He elects to ignore it for the rest of the night, only to be disappointed when not a single text or call comes in from Richie by the next morning.

* * *

It’s officially Winter Break, but Eddie feels no relief. Christmas is less than a week away, not that the holiday has ever meant much to him. His apartment is devoid of any sign of Christmas joy save for the mantle in his living room being littered with all the cards and small, charming gifts his students had given him on their last day. He wraps the very few gifts he purchased: the Collector’s Edition  _ Dune  _ book set for Bill, a refurbished Crosley Lancaster turntable for Audra, and a pair of beaded slippers for his mother who would throw them out immediately if she knew he had purchased them from a “filthy” Asian flea market he regularly frequented. The only time he leaves his apartment is to drop Sonia’s gift in the mail, the rest of his time spent on his couch either arguing with twelve year olds through his gaming headset while playing Elder Scrolls Online, or refining his lesson plan for the new year.

He goes to sleep early on Christmas Eve, no child-like anticipation for Santa accompanying him, just the exhaustion of phoning in yet another holiday while being surrounded by ideas that it’s the time to be spent around family and loved ones. Tomorrow, he’ll wake up, have a guilt-ridden phone call with his mother, and then go to Bill and Audra’s for dinner and probably pass out in their guest room when he’s had too much of Bill’s spiked eggnog. He’s looking forward to  _ surviving  _ the holiday.

He’s hardly expecting to be woken up by his phone blaring that horrible song from Tik Tok that Richie set at his own ringtone a month ago that Eddie was too lazy to ever change back. He blinks blearily into the darkness, groping blindly across his nightstand until he grasps the phone, hitting the answer call button just to stop the incessant sound.

“Richie?” He asks, voice thick with sleep. He squints at the bright screen, able to make out that it’s nearly midnight. “Why are you calling?”

Richie sucks in a ragged breath on the other end of the line. _ “Eddie, fuck, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have called— I-I didn’t know who else— Bev and Stan a-are out of town and w-weren’t picking up— I’m sorry—” _

“Hey, Rich, it’s okay, just slow down,” Hearing such panic seizing up Richie’s voice like that spirals him out of his initial grogginess and pitches him upright in bed. “Are you alright?”

_ “No, I’m n-not fucking alright—” _ a distressed laugh bubbles forth.  _ “She’s g-gone, Eds, it’s all my fault. She’s fu-fucking gone. Peggy’s gone.” _

“What? Richie, what do you mean?”

“ _ I-I let her— I just  _ let  _ her take Peggy— I didn’t know what to do—” _

“Wait,  _ take _ ? Her, who? Who took Peggy?” Eddie asks insistently, his heart pounding in time with Richie’s panting.

_ “Cassie. My ex.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeee sorry about the cliffhanger y'all 😬😬 I actually had to split this chapter in half because I got SO carried away with the length, so the next chapter will be posted very soon and I promise it will be worth the wait!!
> 
> Thank you for continuing to read this fic!! your comments give me the serotonin i need in these trying times of 2020


	8. I think of all the education that I missed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to earn that E rating y'all. 👀

“Richie, just breathe,” Eddie urges, knuckling at his eyes as he kicks the blankets off and drags himself out of bed. “What happened? Tell me slowly, if you can."

_ “Yeah,” _ Richie exhales shakily.  _ “Cass, sh-she wanted to see Peggy because she was working on set the past two Christmases. I kn-knew I shouldn’t have but Peg misses her mom _ so much _ sometimes I-I just don’t know what else I’m supposed to do other than  _ try _. A-And I know Cassie was a bitch the other day, but she can be civil sometimes, y’know? She came over and things were f-fine for a while— I mean, not  _ great _ , but fine— And then I come downstairs and she’s got Peggy out of bed, half-asleep, packing a bag so she can go with her. She tried to say it was  _ only fair  _ because I get Peggy almost every holiday, and since I get her for Hanukkah and New Years than she should get to see her on Christmas— I’m not even _ that good _ of a fucking Jew, man, like it makes any goddamn difference what we do and don’t really celebrate.” _

Eddie is fully dressed and slipping on his shoes when Richie’s done explaining, his phone clutched tightly in his hand. “You have full custody, right? If she’s violating the agreement, you need to call the police. It’s _ kidnapping _ —”

_ “ _ Fuck _ , Eddie, I’m not going to call the goddamn cops and traumatize my kid any further! You should’ve seen her just f-fucking bawling and begging for us t-to stop fighting— Fuck, I just didn’t know what else to do. Peg wanted to go with her mom just so we’d stop arguing— I  _ let her go _ , Eddie, I’m so fucking stupid—” _

“No, you’re not. If things were escalating that quickly, you did the right thing.” Years of experience and social work courses rush through Eddie’s brain as he staggers through his apartment, grabbing a jacket and searching for his car keys. “Will she be safe with Cassie? Is she in any danger?”

_ “No _ — _ God,  _ no _ ,” _ Richie pauses to take a few steadying breaths.  _ “Cass and her parents took care of her back when I couldn’t. I was the fucking drug addict danger to my kid. The only reason I got custody after I cleaned up my shit is because Cassie basically got in front of the judge and told him she didn’t want the burden of a kid while her career was taking off, practically begged him to just let her off the hook. She may not have wanted Peg and would rather pretend she didn’t exist, but she’d never do anything to hurt her.” _

Apprehension roils in his gut, but now isn’t the time to point out that negligence is a danger to children, no matter how unintentional it may be. At the end of the day, Richie knows  _ her _ , and he knows the complicated relationship of their family better than Eddie does.

_ “I shouldn’t have called you,”  _ he repeats.  _ “I’m sorry, I just panicked. I-I needed to tell someone, even if I couldn’t do anything about it. Bev’s usually the one here to manage my meltdowns, I’m sor—” _

“Richie, beep-fucking-beep,” Eddie snaps. “If you apologize one more time then I’m gonna kick you in your teeth as soon as you open the door.”

_ “You don’t have to—” _

“I do,” Eddie insists, finally finding his key ring and rushing out the door, locking up the apartment behind him. “You shouldn’t be alone right now. I’m coming over.”

Richie releases a ragged sigh, but at the very least, he no longer sounds like he’s on the verge of tears.  _ “It’s times like this I wish I was allowed to just get drunk to cope like any other normal person.” _

Eddie can tell it’s meant to come across as light-hearted, but he still stiffens as he walks out to his car, remembering what Bev mentioned about being with Richie at his lowest points. “Is there alcohol in the house?”

_ “Of course there’s alcohol in the house; I keep it for guests,” _ Richie scoffs. _ “It was a  _ joke _ , Eds. I’m fine— I’m not going to— I won’t do anything stupid. Not over this.” _

“Just stay on the phone with me okay?”

_ “I’m a grown man, Eddie, I don’t need you to talk me off a ledge. I’ll see you when you get here, alright?” _

“Richie—” Eddie tries, but he’s already hung up.

He can barely focus on the road as he drives out to Richie’s address in the Hills, gripping his steering wheel so tight his fingers ache by the time he gets there. He tried to call Richie twice on his way over, but both times it went to voicemail. The poor assistant working the security gate so late on a holiday waves him through after checking his car model and license plate, Richie adding him to the permanent guest list months ago once he regularly came over for tutoring. He parks haphazardly in Richie’s driveway before striding up to the front door, pounding on it with his fist.

No answer comes after a minute. “Richie?” he calls, knocking again and spamming the doorbell. He hears the chime echo through the house, but nothing else. He jiggles the doorknob as a test, surprised when he finds it unlocked. “Richie?” He asks into the dark house, the only light sources on the first floor being the dimmed overhead kitchen lights, and the much brighter Christmas tree lit up beside the fireplace. It’s there in the living room that he spots the back of Richie’s head resting against the couch, his hand flopped over the side, loosely clutching what looks like a pill bottle.

“Richie?” He cries with more alarm now, rushing over to his side only to come to an immediate halt when he looks closer. Scattered across the glass table in front of him is an array of pills of varying rainbow colors, loosely shaped like dinosaurs.

He walks around the front of the couch to see Richie’s body splayed there dramatically, eyes closed, tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth.

“You fucking dick!” he cries, immediately slapping him on the shoulder. The strike is met with stifled giggles, Richie only keeping up the act for a second longer before he blinks his eyes open. Eddie just hits him again, which makes him laugh even harder. “Are you trying to give me a fucking heart attack?! That was not funny!"

“It was a little— Ow, fuck— a little funny!” Richie manages between cackles, holding up his arms defensively as he tries to block Eddie’s half-assed assault.

“You’re such an  _ asshole _ ,” Eddie huffs angrily, ripping the children’s vitamin bottle from his grasp.

“Ugh, you have no idea how long I was lying there like that,” Richie straightens up with a wince, rubbing his neck and rolling his head to the side. “My neck is going to be killing me all week.”

“You deserve it,” Eddie barks, kneeling next to the table to clean up the spilled vitamins so he doesn’t use his hands to pulverize Richie into his own couch. “You scared the  _ shit  _ out of me, fuck face.”

“Gotta make myself laugh tonight  _ somehow _ ,” Richie replies, a little too much truth behind the humor. His expression sobers somewhat as he watches Eddie fret over the mess on the table. “I’m sorry. I forget not everyone tries to turn everything into a joke to cope.”

“Yeah, well, it’s certainly not the worst coping method in the world,” Eddie yields, capping the bottle before he straightens up again, looking down at Richie. “Are you okay?” He asks more seriously.

Richie squirms under his gaze, scooting over on the couch to give Eddie room to sit. He looks ridiculously soft like this, wearing a well-worn t-shirt that he’s probably been sleeping in since he was a teenager (evident by the tightness around his chest and armpits) and flannel pajama pants, illuminated by the soft white lights of the tree. “I’m… I’m better. I called Cassie after I got off the phone with you just to make sure everything’s okay… Talked to Peggy too, she’s… she’s fine. She’s happy.”

“She’s a tough kid,” Eddie nods before sinking down onto the couch next to Richie. “As long as she’s safe…”

“She is,” Richie sighs. “She wants to be with her mom right now, even outside of just… not wanting us to fight. Sounds like Cassie just wanted to try and sneak her away because she thought if she asked to take Peg, I’d say no…” He rakes a hand through his sleep mussed hair, pushing his glasses to the top of his head. “I mean, I probably would’ve, but… I don’t know, it’s the most effort Cass has actually put in since after Peggy was born.”

Eddie’s thoughts once again return to his conversation with Bev.  _ He’d only be that vulnerable with someone if he were in it for the long haul. _ “My dad died when I was six. I don’t remember a ton from back then, but I remember my parents’ separation. I still don’t know how much of it was lies my mom fed to me, but she did everything in her power to keep me away from him, even when all he wanted to do was spend time with me. In the long run it just made me resent her so... I think you made the right call, letting her go with her mom.”

“God, I hope so,” Richie sighs. “We  _ did  _ already celebrate Hanukkah, and I didn’t really have any major Christmas plans with her, but… I don’t know, with Stan and Bev both on vacation with their significant others, it’s weird to spend the holiday alone.”

Their eyes meet for a moment, Eddie glancing away first. Now that he takes the time to observe the updated decor around the house, he can see the strange amalgamation of classic Christmas decorations alongside blue-and-white garlands and the Menorahs on the fireplace mantle and in the middle of the dining room table. “Yeah, well, now you’re not alone. I’m here.”

“I didn’t pull you away from any exciting Christmas Eve plans tonight?”

“Other than me already being in bed with a pillow around my ears to drown out the carolers roaming through my apartment building like some kind of Scrooge?” Eddie laughs. “Hardly.”

“Well now I’m picturing you in a long nightgown and cap, shuffling up and down your hallway with a lit candle,” Richie chuckles.

“I actually sleep naked,” Eddie says with a straight face, locking eyes with Richie once more. He can barely hold the bit, bursting into laughter when Richie’s face visibly reddens. “Jesus, you make it too easy sometimes.”

Richie laughs nervously, hand rubbing along his stubbled jaw. “What can I say? I’m putty in your hands, Kaspbrak.”

“Not all the time,” Eddie says without thinking, immediately wishing the thought hadn’t made its way out of his head.

Richie goes oddly quiet then, so quiet that Eddie is fairly sure he stopped breathing for a moment. He drops his gaze again, staring at his own hands clasped in his lap while he tries not to focus on how close they’re sitting on the couch. Their knees are almost touching and Eddie is acutely aware that the arm Richie had casually thrown over the back of the couch would just need one easy motion to wrap itself around his shoulders.

“Listen, not that it’s any of my business, but…” Eddie shifts uncomfortably, staring down at his hands. “The other night at school… that thing Cassandra said… about the two of you..?”

An aggravated sigh rumbles in Richie’s throat. “I wouldn’t take half of what Cassie says seriously. She has a flair for drama, alright, I’ll give her that. She just wanted to ruffle some feathers when she knew her time on stage was running out.”

“So you two aren’t..?”

“ _ No _ ,” Richie says definitively, shaking his head. “Not for a long,  _ long  _ time.”

The confirmation comforts Eddie more than he thought it would, a stifled sigh escaping him as he feels his shoulders untense. Her barbed comment directed at Richie had been haunting him for a few days now, Eddie’s anger over it partially rooted in jealousy, but also born out of worry that Richie would be self-destructive enough to go back to someone who isn’t good for him.

“Eddie…” Richie sighs after the long stretch of silence, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck. “The other night at the club… if you hadn’t been drinking, did you really want to… y’know...”

“ _ Kiss you? _ ” Eddie finishes incredulously, finally lifting his head to fix a stern glare on the man next to him. “Of course I did, you fucking mor—”

The insult is cut short as he feels the couch cushion dipping next to him, and suddenly Richie’s mouth is pressed against his own. Warm palms cup either side of his face, Eddie’s eyelids fluttering to a close as the initial shock fades and the rest of his body is able to react. He lifts his hands out of his lap, one grabbing one of Richie’s wrists while the other lands on the soft material of his tee. As soon as he feels Richie’s lips begin to part against his own, he gently pushes him away.

Richie looks at him questioningly, their noses nearly touching. “I didn’t say I wanted to kiss you now,” Eddie huffs, looking away.

“Y-You don’t?” the expression on Richie’s face is damn near comical, his eyes wide behind his glasses, jaw slack.

“Of course I do, I just wanted to see you make that stupid face,” he says with an eye roll before dragging Richie back to him.

The kiss is truly explosive now that Eddie’s prepared for it. Months of unresolved frustration seep out between the very limited space between their bodies, something Eddie is quick to eliminate completely as he leans back on the couch, pulling Richie with him. The weight is comforting, and the way Richie tries to clumsily prop himself up so he’s not totally crushing Eddie beneath him makes it all the more charming. Eddie lets one of his legs fall off to the side, pulling Richie’s hips against his own as his hands greedily seek out all the places he refused to let them explore before now. He slips them beneath Richie’s shirt, roaming over the soft curve of his hips, running up the strong line of his back. Their lips slant together like they were made for one another, Eddie letting that sharp tongue he thought he had hated for so many weeks explore his mouth.

Richie cradles the back of Eddie’s neck, giving him a bit of cushion against the arm of the couch as they sink further, further into it, to the point where Eddie doesn’t know how they’ll peel themselves off of it. He feels a familiar stirring below the belt, his choice of jeans regrettable in just how constraining they are. Richie’s pajama pants don’t afford him the same subtlety, Eddie feeling the hard curve of him pressed against the inside of his thigh as he rolls their hips together.

A moan slips freely past Eddie’s lips when Richie breaks the kiss, his thumb tracing the curve of Eddie’s jaw before applying a slight pressure there, tilting his head back further. Eddie’s pulse jumps to his throat, meeting the soft caress of Richie’s lips as they glance against his heated skin. It’s not all softness, the scrape of stubble bringing a heightened, rough awareness as Richie begins to trail open mouthed kisses along the column of his throat. Eddie feels his other hand move between their bodies, Richie lifting himself up just enough to ruck Eddie’s shirt higher, his calloused fingers stroking along his flank. Each touch leaves a trail of heat behind it, Richie’s fiery palm coming to rest on the sharp jup of his hip bone peeking out from above his waistline. Normally so averted to touch, even of the non-sexual variety, it feels like sensory overload— like the air is being stolen right out of his lungs.

Richie’s motions pause, Eddie wondering if his body language is that obvious, or if the other man is really just that receptive. It’s probably a healthy mix of both. Richie slows his movements, his lips traveling up to press one, two kisses along the soft spot behind the shell of his ear.

“As much as I’d like to take advantage of having an empty house for once and dick you down wherever I damn well please,” Richie murmurs against his ear. “I think my bed would be much more conducive for what I want to do with you next.”

“As long as you never say  _ dick you down _ again, you can take me anywhere you want,” Eddie replies breathlessly, letting Richie yank him to his feet.

They stumble their way up the stairs like a pair of horny teenagers, Richie pushing Eddie ahead of him just so he can grope his ass on the way up. They fall into the distraction of one another at the top of the steps, Eddie ignoring the ache in his lower back as Richie presses him up against the railing. Eddie is reluctant to let the man leave his personal space again, planting his hands on Richie’s hips to slowly urge him closer to their destination, wherever that may be. Richie needs to be the one to take the lead here, Eddie having only stuck to the first floor for all the times he’s been over.

Despite his previous curiosity, the personal decor choices of Richie’s bedroom are the last thing on his mind as Richie pushes open a door at the end of the hall, immediately kicking it shut once they’re both on the other side of it. Letting his own momentum carry him, Eddie falls back against the door, hands knotted in the back of Richie’s shirt as he draws their bodies together again. The hesitance of their prelude on the couch is gone, Eddie shamelessly hiking his leg up to hook around Richie’s body, the door rattling against the frame as they rut their hips together. He feels both of Richie’s hands slide under his ass, too engrossed in their eager, open-mouthed kisses to take the hint right away. An insistent sound rumbles in the back of Richie’s throat, their teeth knocking together for a moment when Eddie realizes what he wants. He lifts the only leg holding him up off the ground, Richie easily lifting him up into his arms with the added leverage of the door behind him.

Eddie’s arms loop easily around Richie’s neck, for once having to crane his neck down to kiss the other man as he’s hiked up even higher. He’s never been happier to be the (very average, mind you) height of 5’9”, feeling practically weightless in the comedian’s arms.

“Alright, spidermonkey, I’m not as young as I used to be,” Richie chuckles against his lips, grunting as he takes a few steps back, still holding Eddie for the few feet it takes for them to get to the bed before dropping him down onto the mattress. He plants a hand on his back, arching his spine dramatically. “I hope you know you’re the only man I’d throw out my back for.”

“I’m honored,” Eddie drawls, distracted by the exposed line of hair he sees leading down below the waistband of Richie’s pants as his shirt lifts up over his belly with the movement. “Now get over here so I can really throw your back out.”

“Bossy, bossy,” Richie chastises with no heat, his grin as lopsided as the glasses on his face as he crawls onto the bed, hovering over Eddie. “I should’ve known.”

_ I’ll show you bossy _ , Eddie thinks before grabbing the front of Richie’s shirt and rolling to the side so he’s on top, straddling Richie’s lap. The change in position and the absolutely stunned expression on Richie’s face are enough to bolster his confidence despite not having been in this position (or anything close to it) for an embarrassingly long time. Riding that brazen wave, he leans down and drags Richie into another kiss, fingers sliding easily into the short curls on the nape of his neck. Richie feels like putty beneath him, and it only takes one roll of his hips before he feels Richie’s hands slide from around his waist down to palm at his ass, grinding his hips upwards to meet him.

“Eddie,” Richie groans between kisses, his hands moving to hold Eddie’s hips still, his thumbs brushing up along the bare skin beneath his shirt. “If you keep that up, I’m going to come in my pants like a fucking teenager.”

Eddie laughs breathlessly, letting Richie capture his lips again before he pulls away, doing his best to not grind his hips forward again when he can practically  _ feel  _ Richie’s dick twitching against his inner thigh through the layers of clothing between them. “You’re not the only one,” he admits with a hesitant laugh, feeling comforted when Richie just smiles up at him like he hung every star in the sky. “It’s, uh, been a while.”

Richie sits up to meet him, their chests pressed together as he peppers a few more scratchy kisses along his jaw and down his neck, his hands slowly lifting the hem of Eddie’s shirt that he honestly should’ve gotten out of the way a long time ago. “Is there anything you prefer?” One of his hands slides around to the small of his back, his fingertips dipping just below the lip of his pants in a suggestion.

“I mean, I’ve never— I-I’ve tried with other guys but— It’s never gotten that— I’ve only ever  _ really  _ had sex with Myra so—”

“Hey,” Richie graciously cuts off his rambling, lifting his other hand to cup Eddie’s cheek— His scarred cheek— “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. Lucky for you, I go _ both ways  _ in every sense of the phrase.”

The joke is stupid but makes him laugh anyway, a nervous, slightly hysteric sound that bubbles forth. It cuts through the lustful high, Eddie feeling more grounded in that moment that he’s ever felt during a moment of intimacy like this. He’s grateful Richie is giving him the free pass just this once, but some other part of him thinks that maybe if he could explain himself to anyone… that Richie would be the one to not only  _ listen  _ but  _ understand _ . Maybe one day Eddie could verbalize the reservations he has about sex with other men since the horror story of AIDS has been drilled into his head since he was seven years-old, or that he used to be unable to stand touch from a stranger without rushing to the nearest sink to scrub himself clean, let alone be physically intimate with others. He used to retch at the thought of his hands and mouth going all the places he so desired to put them, fearing what kind of disease would cling to his back forever the moment he chose to indulge— And he certainly wasn’t going to let anyone else return the favor. Even now, most days he looks in the mirror, he’s still fighting the constant struggle of finding himself desirable, which is why Richie has been so goddamn  _ disarming  _ from the very beginning.

_ I want to tell you all of it _ , Eddie thinks as he meets Richie’s gaze, goosebumps rising on the back of his neck when he feels the man’s calloused thumb stroke delicately over the pale pink of the jagged line across his cheek.  _ Maybe next time, if there is a next time. _

_ God, please let there be a next time. _

“Jeez, that bad huh?” Richie chuckles in response to Eddie’s silence. “Must’ve used up all the good bi jokes on tour.”

“Sorry,” Eddie blurts out. “Just, um, thinking.”

“My bad, Einstein, please, don’t let  _ me  _ distract you,” Richie teases, accepting the light smack to his shoulder.

“That’s not to say I’m not…  _ interested _ ,” Eddie hedges, suddenly feeling like a blushing virgin and not the man who had been dry-humping Richie in his bed two minutes ago. “I wasn’t expecting this to happen tonight— And I  _ do  _ still want it to happen— But I think I should— I’d just be more comfortable— Not just  _ comfortable _ , I want to— I mean, I  _ want _ —”

Richie interrupts him by pulling him into a slow, arduous kiss, all of his previous anxiety slipping away. He chases after Richie’s lips when he pulls away, holding Eddie at bay as he stares up at him with blown out pupils, a slight grin toying at the corners of his mouth. “Just say you want to fuck me, Eddie.”

Eddie exhales sharply and leans down to kiss him again, harsher and more insistent than before. “I want to fuck you, Richie.”

Richie’s grin spreads and he nips at Eddie’s upper lip before giving his thighs a tap. Eddie climbs off of him long enough for Richie to roll over towards his bedside table, yanking open the top drawer to grab a bottle of lube and an entire strip of condoms, tossing them onto the bed.

“You really think we’re going to need all of those?” Eddie scoffs, trying to keep his bravado up for as long as possible while the reality settles in looking at those items sitting on the sheets in front of them.

“I’m being optimistic,” Richie grins at him. “Something tells me you’re going to be  _ very  _ needy.” Eddie kicks his thigh as Richie urges him up a little higher on the bed, reclining against the pillows. “Hey, I don’t mean that in a bad way. I am just a humble servant here to make your first, full, gay experience the best it can be.”

Eddie reclines back against the pillows against the headboard, wrapping his arms around Richie’s neck when the man climbs over him again, slotting a knee between his thighs to help relieve a little more pressure. He pulls back slightly, placing a hand on Richie’s chest. “I… I want to make sure this is good for you too.”

Richie scoffs, looking at him over the rim of his glasses that have slipped down on his nose. “Eds, I promise, nothing you say or do tonight is gonna make this any less enjoyable for me. You don’t even want to know how many filthy scenarios I’ve had in my head from the moment I met you.”

Eddie feels as if his heart is going to shatter right out of his chest, but for once, it’s a  _ nice  _ feeling. He leans forward just enough to slip the glasses off Richie’s face, gently tossing them to the bedside table as he places his lips against his ear. “ _ Tell me. _ ”

He feels Richie’s body shudder above him, pride swelling in his chest at the fact that he could elicit such a reaction. “How about I show you instead?” Richie returns, the husky register his voice drops into giving Eddie the same thrill of desire.

Richie goes for the hem of his shirt immediately, Eddie lifting his arms up just enough for it to get removed and tossed to the side. They fight for a moment over who is going to discard the others’ clothing faster, Richie managing to get the button of his pants and fly undone while Eddie only gets his shirt off as high as his armpits, having to wait for Richie to lean back on his heels to get it the rest of the way off. While Eddie gets the very small amount of body hair on his torso waxed, Richie is all natural, dark curls dusting across the swell of his pecs, thinning out over his stomach only to darken again below his navel. 

Apparently he’s not the only one ogling, Richie stupidly slack-jawed as he stares down at Eddie’s chest. “ _ Holy Moses _ , Eddie— Why didn’t you tell me you were ripped?!”

“Yes, because that’s something I would just go around  _ telling  _ people,” Eddie scoffs, crossing his arms self-consciously. “And I am not  _ ripped _ , I just stay in shape.”

“Those abs beg to differ,” Richie whistles. “I could do laundry on this fuckin’ washboard you’re packing under all those salmon polos.”

“Oh, you wash your clothes?”

“Once a year or so.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, beginning to question his taste in men. “Can we just get back to the sex part?”

“Sorry, Baby, Trashmouth dirty talk is a package deal if you want  _ this  _ package—”

“Beep, fucking, beep, beep, beep—” Eddie is cut off as Richie pulls him into another kiss, the real distraction coming when he shoves a hand into his unzipped jeans. He gropes Eddie over the thin layer of his boxer briefs, dragging another moan out of him as the contact sends him back into that haze of elation. Eddie can’t remember the last time— or if there was ever a time— that he’d been so thrilled to be touched by someone else. By the way Richie drags his palm over his bulge, fingertips rubbing insistently over the wet spot gathering on the fabric stretched tight against his tip, Eddie knows he’s in very capable hands.

“Can I blow you?” Richie asks, hooking his thumb right below the waistband to brush against the very tender head of his cock confined there.

“Holy fuck— Yes, Richie— Fuck, yes—”

That confirmation is all it takes for Richie to scoot further down on the bed, yanking Eddie’s pants and underwear down to his knees in one quick jerk. Eddie hardly has to do any work, Richie man-handling the last of his clothing off of him and tossing it to join the growing pile off the side of the bed. And here he is, naked and sprawled out on Richie Tozier’s bed, the sliver of light coming in through the curtains behind them enough to illuminate the desire there in Richie’s eyes, no longer shrouded behind those thick lenses. There are no more walls between them.

“You are perfect,” Richie says with complete seriousness before leaning down and taking Eddie’s cock into his mouth.

The initial contact makes Eddie gasp, his back arching as Richie wastes no time in showing off one of his best assets. He briefly remembers one of Richie’s stand-up jokes about the nickname  _ Trashmouth  _ feeling like a death sentence for any prospective bedfellows, and Eddie can now say he’s privy to the fact that the confidence Richie shows onstage in regards to what that Trashmouth can do is not unfounded. Sex has always been difficult for Eddie to process subjectively. He’s never been one to nitpick technique when it came to this kind of stuff, having just enough experience to be able to tell a “good” blowjob from a “bad” one.

Suddenly, every trashy, erotic novel level description of what constitutes satisfying oral makes sense to him. There is no guilt, no disgust as he feels Richie’s tongue run along his shaft, the hot, wet warmth of his mouth sealing so perfectly around him. He dares to open his eyes, another moan slipping past his lips as he takes in the image of Richie’s head bobbing between his legs. His gaze flickers upwards just enough to meet Eddie’s, deliberately obscene as he drags his mouth upwards and releases with a soft  _ pop _ , a string of saliva still connecting his flushed lower lip to the tip of Eddie’s cock. He has absolutely zero time to recover from that mental image, Richie closing his eyes again as he takes Eddie fully into his mouth once more, his nose pressing flush against his abdomen.

He finds himself turned on by the sound of being deep-throated, something that normally repulsed him. But when it’s  _ Richie _ making those stifled little gagging sounds every time he feels his prick hit the back of his throat… Eddie might as well give up on getting off to porn ever again. The brief fantasies he had indulged in didn’t even come close to this— Richie’s soft curls between his fingers as Eddie slides a hand along the back of his scalp, feeling the damp sweat gathered there in the roots with every instinctive tug. Richie knows exactly how to respond to every muscle spasm, every twitch, every time Eddie’s spine curves, lifting away from the sheets. He has one hand spread wide across Eddie’s hip, the other grasping the back of his thigh to keep his head from being crushed between Eddie’s legs (which Richie would promptly joke would be a great way to go). He begins to think there’s some merit to the idea that you can suck someone’s brain out through their dick, Eddie unable to do much else but moan and writhe with toes curled and eyes rolled into the back of his head.

“Ri-Richie—” Eddie manages something beyond whatever garbled praise has been escaping in a stream from his mouth for the past who-knows-how-long, his mind feeling a little fuzzy as he attempts to sit up. “If you don’t stop, I’m going to come.”

Richie pulls off, his breathing just as ragged as Eddie’s, curls sticking in every direction thanks to all of Eddie’s tugging. “That’s cute. You think you’re only getting  _ one  _ orgasm tonight.”

Eddie would be a moron to question an offer like that. He swears loudly as Richie laves his tongue over his slit, his head hitting the pillows with a loud thump as he resigns himself to the mercy of Richie and his own refractory period.

He almost misses the quiet  _ schnick  _ of the lube bottle being uncapped, his eyes fluttering open long enough to watch Richie slick up his fingers and reach between his legs. _ He’s fingering himself _ , Eddie realizes.  _ He’s fingering himself while he’s blowing me _ . The thought alone accompanied with the ever so subtle moan in the back of Richie’s throat as his fingers breach himself is all it takes to send Eddie over that edge.

His warning goes unheeded, a choked off “Richie, I’m gonna—” and a sharp tug to the hair on the back of his neck. Richie simply hollows out his cheeks, ignoring the insistent hand trying to pull him off. Eddie’s hips stutter as he rides the wave of his orgasm, whining softly when he slips out of Richie’s mouth.

_ That was so much better than I imagined _ , Eddie thinks, feeling that satisfying tingle crawl over his entire body as he comes down from the high.

“You’ve thought about this?” Richie straightens up from in between his legs, sounding delighted.

Eddie blinks his eyes open, realizing too late that he had voiced that particular thought out loud. “What? No—”

Richie crawls up higher on the bed, tongue running across his bottom lip as he settles on the mattress next to him. “You’ve  _ fantasized  _ about me,” he accuses smugly.

“Fantasized about killing you, maybe,” Eddie mumbles, glad he has a post-orgasm glow to blame his flushed cheeks on. He glances sideways at Richie, eyes flickering down at the erection still visible beneath the thin material of his pants. “Did you, uh… I could return the favor..?”

“Hmm,” Richie rumbles, reaching out to absentmindedly drag his fingertips over Eddie’s stomach, tracing the toned lines of muscle there. “As enjoyable as that would be, I kind of need to get you hard again so you can fuck me,” he grins, leaning in for a kiss.

On instinct, Eddie recoils.

“What, you won’t kiss me after oral?” Richie laughs, fake-affronted.

Eddie huffs with a wrinkled nose, turning his face away when Richie leans in again. “It’s  _ gross _ , Richie. You just— You know what you did.”

“It’s  _ your  _ dick. How can you be grossed out about your own dick?”

“Just because I touch it doesn’t mean I want to taste my own come!”

“Oh, please, like you’ve  _ never  _ accidentally—”

“I haven’t!”

“ _ Liar! _ Who hasn’t accidentally gotten jizz in their own mouth?”

“Just because  _ you  _ jizz all over your own face doesn’t mean the rest of us have to, you cretin.”

“Kiss me, Eddie,” Richie demands, rolling on top of him. Eddie plants his hands firmly on his shoulders, barely able to keep him at bay. “Kiss me and my jizzy mouth!”

“You’re a fucking twelve year old!” Eddie complains, thrashing his head from side to side to avoid Richie’s pursed lips.

“That means you’re  _ fucking  _ a twelve year old,” Richie counters childishly, still making loud kissing noises as he tries to break through Eddie’s guard.

“You’re the worst human being I’ve ever met,” Eddie declares, covering Richie’s face with both hands to shove him away.

Richie flops onto his back, letting himself be pushed away with a laugh. “How about… I go brush my teeth, give you a minute to cool down, and then we reconvene for Act Two?”

Eddie takes a deep breath, still a little surprised at just how  _ accommodating  _ Richie is being. “...Use mouthwash too,” he barters, staring up at the ceiling.

“Deal,” Richie chuckles from beside him before rolling out of bed with a grunt. Eddie lets his gaze stray to his retreating back as he shuffles to the attached bathroom, eyes drawn to the way the muscles bunch and flex as he stretches his arms over his head.

The room feels eerily quiet after the bathroom door swings shut behind Richie, the sound of Eddie’s own heartbeat still thudding in his ears as he lays there on his back, sweat cooling across his skin. He focuses on the muffled sounds coming from the bathroom, the squeak of the faucet as Richie wets his toothbrush, the sound of his bare feet aimlessly padding across the tile floor while he brushes.

Eddie sits up, absentmindedly reaching between his legs to fondle his softened dick, flinching at the sensitivity. All age jokes aside, it won’t take him very long to get hard again, especially once Richie comes back out with a fresh mouth and washed hands— Hands that are so  _ large  _ and  _ warm  _ and somehow know all the right ways to touch Eddie to have him unraveling down to his very core.

Oh, yeah, it won’t take long at all.

Eddie hears the faucet again, on and off, the sound of Richie rinsing and spitting into the sink. “You better floss while you’re at it! I’ve seen your gums, Richie, I can tell you don’t floss enough!” He calls towards the bathroom.

Richie’s laughter is still impossibly loud even through the closed door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if you guys were expecting a 100% serious sex scene— I tried but these manchildren wouldn't let me
> 
> thanks for sticking with me through the updates y'all, we're coming up on the finish line here ❤️ and yes I bumped the chapters up again because I can't write anything short to save my life. There will be one more "official" chapter and then an epilogue following that!


	9. but then my homework was never quite like this

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I want to apologize for the wait on this chapter, but I hope the length makes up for it <3

Richie wakes up alone. 

It’s something he had gotten used to, but is unexpected on this particular Sunday morning given last night’s events. The world around him is blurry as he sits up, reaching out to feel the rumpled sheets next to him. They’re cool to the touch.

He gives Velma a run for her money with how quickly he scrambles for his glasses, knocking over his half of his and Peggy’s bedside Walkie Talkies and a stray water cup that’s been up here for a week to get to them.

Vision no longer impaired, he kicks into full Sherlock Holmes mode— Like with the slow mo and Robert Downey Jr. voice over and everything. His room is virtually the same upon first glance, same retro horror movie posters staring back at him from the walls, same Street Fighter arcade machine in the corner that’s been mysteriously out of commission since Peggy beat his high score last year, same vintage guitars mounted on the wall— Gibsons and Les Pauls and Nocasters that haven't been touched for years after Richie realized his musical talent went about as far as 1-4-5 chord progressions and the riff from  _ Smoke on the Water _ . “Nostalgia vomit”, Bev liked to call his personal taste. (It’s a good thing her better half had a little more heart to indulge Richie’s ideas when he helped him out with the interior design.)

A mass of dark shapes on the floor catches his eye, and it’s there he sees discarded clothes that are most certainly two or three sizes too small to belong to him. And unless Eddie had a tendency to do his drive of shame home sans those cute, little, cherry-red boxer briefs, he must still be here. The relief that Eddie didn’t hightail it the moment Richie passed out, naked and well-fucked next to him, crashes into him like a freight train.

Because Eddie rocked his entire world. Like, really, really  _ rocked _ it. If this is how sex always is when you’re hopelessly smitten with someone, Richie could finally get on board with the whole  _ romance _ schtick. He’d have to ask Ben for some poetry advice, figure out how to write a stanza or two about Eddie looking like a pissed off Bambi at all times, and how much Richie  _ liked _ that look on him.

Even during sex, those black coffee eyes still held that furious kind of defiance behind them, which is why he had been so eager to have Eddie fuck him. It’d been a while since his last time bottoming, which is abhorrently evident to Richie the moment he pushes himself to the edge of his California King and attempts to sit up. The dull ache that stretches from the small of his back down to his glutes is something he hasn’t been acquainted with in quite some time, his tastes as far as men go normally skewing towards the twinky, pillow princess type. There had been the occasional outlier, sure, but when you’re built like Richie (some freaky hybrid between an “otter” and a “bear” according to his previous lays’ feedback), it’s kind of automatically assumed he’ll be the one to top. He wouldn’t consider himself “well-endowed”, but his dick is proportionate to his lanky, 6’ 2” frame and doesn’t have any kinda weird bend to it, and his partners so far have seemed to be into it. No complaints yet.

And, don’t get him wrong, he’s been fantasizing about Eddie’s ass since the moment he saw him in that scrap of red nylon masquerading as a pair of athletic shorts. He has an entire mental list of sinful, inappropriate things he wants to do with that ass. However, he’s more than happy to put all of those things on the backburner until Eddie is more comfortable with them.

It certainly helps that despite his hesitance, Eddie had been a fucking  _ natural _ last night. After Richie had sufficiently rid himself of any come aftertaste, he had coaxed Eddie into another good chunk of making out and heavy-petting, Richie nearly coming in his own underwear as he got Eddie hard again. He had a few close calls, managing to hold off at least until Eddie got a couple fingers into his ass, already primed thanks to Richie’s foresight to get past the initial awkwardness and loosen himself up while he had been going down on Eddie.

Even with the prep, Eddie had been overly concerned as he knelt behind him, Richie on all fours just to give him the easiest angle.  _ “Is this okay, Rich?”, “Is that too much, Richie?” _ , Eddie had fretted, taking his time in opening Richie up, feeling the tight ring of muscle give around his fingers as he massaged the rim until he could slip another one inside. And that’s how Richie came, biting into his pillow, three of Eddie’s digits pressed deep inside him rubbing against that hot little hair-trigger, his earlier words of concern shifting into praising dirty talk.

Richie got hard again once Eddie fucked him. He had apparently been vocal enough during the fingering for Eddie to ease up on the concerned hesitance and really just  _ go for it _ . He lets the sheets pool below his thighs now, his slight morning wood curved against one hairy thigh, framed by the almost-bruises left on his hips from where Eddie’s fingers had been digging in the night before.

They had cleaned up in the shower afterwards, Richie keeping his complaints to a minimum as Eddie had to practically drag him out of bed by the ankle, far more coordinated post-orgasm than he had any right to be. He supposed the drive of cleanliness took over any kind of afforded lethargy after the fact. It was cute, though, arguing afterwards about whether or not the sheets needed to be changed, Eddie’s alarm that Richie only had one set of sheets short-lived, replaced by a resigned repulsion when Richie’s solution was to just sleep on the other side of the bed. It’s without question big enough, and with that logic, Richie won the dispute (something he reveled in considering it would probably be a rare occurrence.) 

Counterintuitive to his own harping about post-sex hygiene (and much to Richie’s surprise and delight), Eddie had been the one to get handsy in the shower first. One second, Richie had been cracking jokes about his patchy shoulder hair, the next, Eddie was crowded up against his front, rubbing both of their cocks together with a water-slicked hand. He spun Eddie around and pinned him to the cold shower wall, steam rising up around them as he rutted against Eddie’s perfect, perky ass. The air feels heady even now, Richie remembering the feeling of being plastered against Eddie’s small frame, scalding water beating down on his back as he pulled him off, whispering filthy, nonsensical promises and praise into the nape of Eddie’s neck. He’ll forever fantasize about those saccharine, helpless whimpers echoing off the tiled walls around them, weaving together their own boner-inducing harmonies—

He’s brought out of his reverie by the sound of metal clattering together downstairs and a loud shout that  _ will _ require donation to the overflowing swear jar. The distraction didn’t come soon enough for him to not end up with a total stiffie between his legs, Richie sighing as he hauls himself out of bed. He handles himself with the utmost care as he tucks his length into a fresh pair of sweats, trying to coax it down into a reasonable half-chub.

On auto-pilot, he walks down the hallway and around the corner, lifting both hands to assault Peggy’s door with his patented, incessant, I-don’t-care-if-it’s-Sunday-it’s-almost-noon-get-your-ass-up knock, freezing when he realizes the door is slightly ajar, same as it had been last night when he had first come out of his bedroom to investigate the voices and thumping around downstairs.

His good mood loses some buoyancy, hands reluctantly swinging back down to his sides as he stares through the crack in the door. He can see the edge of Peggy’s bed, plum purple comforter hanging off to the side in an unmade heap, some of her dresser drawers still hanging open, slack-jawed after last night’s hasty ransacking.

He hooks a single finger around the handle and pulls the door shut with a quiet click.

The strong smell of peanut butter and maple syrup tickles at his nose as he descends the stairs, absentmindedly palming at the bulge beneath his joggers as he comes around the corner and peers into the kitchen.

He wouldn’t have bothered trying to constrain his boner had he known this would be the sight greeting him. Seriously, it  _ cannot _ be legal in the state of California (or any state for that matter) for Eddie to be leaning against his kitchen island, hip cocked to the side, glaring down at a box of pancake mix like it owes him money. He’s wearing Richie’s faded t-shirt from last night, the size-medium tee fitting him much better than it fits Richie these days. It probably used to hang around Richie’s shoulders like that, back when he was a lanky late-teen who thought the  _ Ramones _ was the greatest band to ever exist. It’s still a little long on him, the bottom hem partially tucked into the boxers—  _ Richie’s _ boxers— rolled twice over the waistband just so they wouldn’t slip off his perfect ski slope hips.

_ I could get used to this _ , Richie thinks, drool pooling in his jaw while the less rational lobes in his brain ring sirens that sound like  _ Marry him!!!! _

“Contrary to popular belief, the heat you shoot out from your eyes isn’t  _ quite _ substantial enough to cook with, y’know,” he says aloud, padding across the kitchen floor to sidle up beside the grumpy, attempted chef.

“I think I screwed up the batter,” Eddie mutters in almost childlike disappointment, freckles scrunched into a tanned ink blot across his wrinkled nose. He turns his head back to the stovetop, a flapjack nearly the size of the pan still sizzling away despite the messy, bubbling chunks sticking out of the batter. Richie can see another failed attempt in a plate on the counter, this one too thin and charred black on one side.

“A regular Martha Stewart, you are not,” Richie assesses, winding an arm around Eddie’s waist. He feels the most minuscule of flinches, Eddie biting his lip and leaning into the touch as an apology. Richie gives his nonexistent love handle a quick squeeze before he takes a few steps away, giving Eddie his breathing room. “Seriously, Eds, you tryna poison me?”

Eddie glowers and slides the bowl over to him with an overzealous flick of his wrist, the mixture luckily too chunky to worry about it spilling across the counter. “Fine, you do it then.”

“Well, step number one,” Richie reaches around him to pluck the empty box out of his hands, tossing it into the recycling bin. “Ignore the measurements. You gotta be  _ one with the batter _ , Eddie-san.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “I should’ve never attempted one of your cockamamie recipes.”

“Ooh, don’t say  _ cockamamie _ , you’re gonna make me hard again,” Richie hisses, pretending to adjust himself in his pants. Well, half-pretended.

“Like you weren’t hard already,” Eddie scoffs, giving his crotch a dry once-over. His grey sweats left very little to the imagination; His semi could probably be seen from space.

“C’mon, be my Susan chef,” Richie bumps their hips together, grabbing a clean whisk. “Slice me up a couple bananas, would ya?”

Together, they manage to salvage Eddie’s first pass at the peanut-butter-banana-cinnamon pancake batter Richie had perfected over the years, Eddie scraping the skillet clean and banishing his monstrosities to the garbage can. With the consistency now perfectly pliable for both pouring and holding its shape, Richie turns the heat down a few notches, taking his place pressed up against Eddie’s back to guide him through his superior flipping technique. 

Their original intentions had been good, but with Eddie’s ass pressed purposefully back against Richie’s groin, and Richie enjoying tickling Eddie’s bare neck with his stubble while he has his chin hooked over a shoulder, the pancakes are easily forgotten.

Eddie twists in his arms, Richie bracing himself against the stove behind him as their mouths meet. The kiss is soft, minty. Eddie had definitely brushed his teeth this morning, and Richie definitely has not. He has no complaints about Richie’s morning breath as they deepen the kiss, tongues stroking alongside one another, hips seeking out the same closeness.

Richie hears the clicking of the gas stove as Eddie’s ass bumps against the knobs, laughing as he breaks the kiss and pulls Eddie away by the elbows.

“I knew you were a fire hazard, Kaspbrak,” he smirks, keeping Eddie tucked against him as he reaches out to turn the unit back down.

“I’ll show you a fire hazard,” Eddie grumbles in determination, walking Richie back until the small of his back hits the breakfast bar behind them.

“Oh yeah?” Richie smirks and reaches out, swiping a stray streak of flour off of Eddie’s cheekbone with his thumb. “I’d definitely take a kitchen fire over having to eat your cooking—”

Eddie kisses him quiet, which is another thing Richie can certainly get behind becoming a common occurrence. Eddie tugs his lower lip between the blunt edge of his teeth for just a moment before dropping to his knees.

Richie grasps Eddie’s wrists the moment he grabs at the waistband of his sweats “Eds, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” is all Eddie says before tugging his pants down to his ankles, leaving him fully naked in the middle of his kitchen.

It’s over painfully quick. 

In Richie’s defense, he never stood a chance against Eddie’s doe eyes staring up at him while his tongue teased along the slit of his cock, that arousing sense of pure concentration as he eased him into his mouth, inch by inch, until Richie was swearing at the ceiling and clutching onto the counter behind him for dear life. The satisfaction of carding his fingers through Eddie’s perfect little choirboy haircut, making a mess of him in more ways than one as saliva drips down his chin and his cheeks flush with a ruddy intensity. For all his claims of lack of experience, Eddie sure does seem to be a quick learner, his hand cupping Richie’s balls as they draw tight to his body and feel like they might just fall off if he doesn’t come  _ soon _ . Eddie takes notice of the signs before Richie’s even aware how close he is to that edge. His mouth pulls away with an obscenely wet sound, quickly replaced by the tight heat of his fist as he deftly rises to his feet. Richie comes like that, hands clinging to the counter behind him for dear life with Eddie’s weight against his front, leaving just enough room between them to jerk him off until he's coming across his own stomach.

They stand there like that for a while, chests heaving against one another in tandem as Richie’s knees threaten to buckle at any moment. Eddie reaches past him for a dish rag, wiping off his knuckles before carefully folding it to clean up the mess streaked across Richie’s belly.

“Merry Christmas, by the way,” Richie laughs, pressing a kiss into Eddie’s sleep-mussed hair as he drapes an arm around his shoulders to keep him closer just a little bit longer.

“Ba humbug,” Eddie mutters against his shoulder, leaning into the embrace.

The first pancake burns to a crisp, but neither of them seem to care.

* * *

After breakfast has settled in both of their bellies, Eddie enlists Richie to accompany him on his morning (now afternoon) run. Bev would dead arm Richie for agreeing so quickly considering all the grief he gives her whenever she drags him outside to meet with the personal trainer she hired. Really, Richie is just delighted Eddie is still choosing to stick around him for so long.

He gives a pair of Richie’s old running shorts the same treatment he had given his boxers that morning, rolling them a couple of times and hiking them up high around his waist. He turns up his nose at almost every tank top option Richie presents him with, mostly for the terrible sayings plastered across them. He eventually accepts one, flipping it inside out so "Ask me about my crippling depression" isn't visible.

It’s here on this somewhat brisk, “California Winter” morning that Richie discovers that he and Eddie are completely incompatible as running partners. While Mr. K likes to track his exact route and mileage on a fitbit, and alternate his pace to maximize his cardio, Richie is the kind of aimless jogger who stops to pet every single dog he sees on the street— Which is a surprisingly high amount on Christmas Day, but that’s LA for you.

Richie is dripping in sweat by the time they slog back down the hill towards his house, Eddie’s precise, five minute cooldown a much needed respite.

“So, uh,” Eddie is panting ever so slightly, but the sounds escaping him are far more dignified than Richie’s hideous heaving next to him. “I’ve got this thing tonight at my friend Bill’s... I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if I invited you, but I’ve never brought anyone to it before so they’ll  _ definitely  _ be super weird about it, and I think his wife used to work with your ex so…”

“Hey, you don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Richie dismisses, struggling to catch his breath as he trails down the sloping sidewalk, regretting his decision to not live somewhere a little more  _ flat _ . “Seriously, Eds, don’t look at me like that. I’ll be  _ fine _ . I’ll spend Christmas lounging around in my underwear and watching B-rated holiday rom-coms. Living the dream.”

Eddie still casts a doubtful side-eye with those damn doe eyes of his as they come to a stop in front of his car. He had gathered his discarded clothes from Richie’s bedroom floor and folded them neatly on the roof of his hatchback before they left for their run. “Right. I guess I’ll just… see you when I see you? School year starts back January 8th, don’t forget.”

Richie blinks at him, uncomprehending. “What do you… Eddie, we’re going to see each other outside of just school stuff.”  _ Aren’t we? _

Eddie fiddles with his car keys and looks away from him. Richie’s racing heart slams to a shuddering stop in his ribcage, giving him emotional whiplash. “Listen…” The single word feels like a death sentence, sure to be followed by the ‘It’s not you, it’s me’s, and ‘I’m just not that into you’s. “Last night was… good—  _ great _ , even.”

“Just  _ great _ ?” Richie snorts. “Last night was fan-fucking-tastic, if I recall. You seemed to think it was good enough for the encore this morning...”

“I’m trying not to inflate your ego, Dumbass,” Eddie chides with reddening ears, knocking a loose fist against his chest. “Not just last night, either. All of it— It’s all been… amazing,” his softened affection coarsens slightly with the glare he shoots Richie’s way when he snorts at his careful word choice again. “But… I have my ‘no parents’ rule for a reason. It took a lot for mine and Peggy’s relationship to get where it is now, and even after she’s not my student anymore, if you and I were to start something that ended poorly… I mean, fuck, we stopped talking for like a  _ week  _ and she could already tell something was off.”

“She blows hot and cold all the time— She gets that from her mom—” “Putting Peggy aside for just a second… Just you and I, here, what’s so wrong with that?”

Eddie’s frown lines form deep crevices into his face, Richie fighting that burning itch to reach up and smooth them out. “To be honest, I don’t know if you’re ready for a serious commitment, Richie. Hell, I don’t know if  _ I  _ am.”

“I can be serious,” Richie argues.

“Says the guy who sticks coffee stirrers under his lip and pretends to be a walrus at a  _ funeral _ ,” Eddie deadpans.

“Okay, you’ve got to stop using my stand-up bits against me,” Richie bemoans, despite secretly kind of liking it when Eddie brings them up. “So, what, grief makes me uncomfortable so I’m undateable? I mean, there’s  _ plenty  _ of reasons for you to think I’m undateable. I could be mistaken for a sasquatch when I take my shirt off, I chew with my mouth open sometimes, I use 2-in-1 on my hair, I’ve got this wonky eye—”

“Richie, stop,” Eddie sighs, reaching out to clasp Richie’s hands that were counting off all his shortcomings. “I like those things about you, Idiot,” he mumbles fondly, dropping their hands between them without letting go.

“Even the mouth chewing?” he grimaces.

“Well  _ that  _ I could do without,” Eddie concurs, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. He stares at their linked hands for a moment before he lets his fingers slip away, the sweat instantly cooling on Richie’s palm. “I just think we need to be cautious about this—”

“Come to New York with me,” he blurts out.

Eddie’s hand stills on the car door handle. “What?”

“Right. Context,” Richie cringes, wiping an obscene amount of sweat from his brow. “I’m, uh, going to New York to help host the ball drop for New Year’s Eve. Well,  _ host  _ is a strong word, I’ll leave all that smiling and teleprompter reciting to Seacrest. Bev managed to get me one of the performing slots, though. I fly out in a couple days.”

Eddie gapes at him for a moment, his jaw clamping shut with an audible click. Now probably isn’t a good time to bring up that he should really invest in a mouth guard considering how loudly he grinds his teeth in his sleep. “Richie, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he insists, stepping forward again. Eddie doesn’t flinch away from him as he hesitantly raises his hands, resting them carefully on the smaller man’s waist. “I’m serious about this, Eds— About us. Come to New York with me.”

Eddie’s eyes flit nervously to the side, his lips pressed into a tight line. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“That’s not a no,” Richie can’t help but grin, stepping back so Eddie can get into his car.

“It’s not a yes either,” Eddie mutters under his breath, wrenching the door open. He hesitates for a beat, tossing his clothes onto the passenger seat before looking over his shoulder at Richie. “Did you mean what you said? About last night being… I mean, it was good for you?”

Richie raises his eyebrows. “Do you really want me to answer that?”

“On second thought, no,” Eddie sighs before getting into the car.

Richie watches the Subaru disappear beyond his gate, thinking that Eddie must be just as repressed about his sexuality as he is if he was so doubtful as to whether or not he was a decent bed partner. He’d climb up onto his roof and scream to all of the 90401 about how Eddie Kaspbrak is the best lay ever if he didn’t think Eddie would’ve just pushed him off and accepted the jail time for manslaughter.

He aches for a cigarette as he heads back inside, bee-lining for his and Bev’s shared home office. Really, it’s like 90% Beverly’s office and 10% Richie’s, considering he can’t focus when sitting behind a desk to save his life. He prefers to take conference calls and do most of his writing in any other place around the house where he can be mostly horizontal while doing so.

He drops unceremoniously into Bev’s chair and pulls open the bottom drawer of her desk with his foot, staring down at the red and white pack of Marlboros sitting atop some manila folders. It’s half empty when he flips the lid open, rolling one of the cigarettes methodically between his thumb and forefinger before sticking it between his teeth.

He roots around in her drawers searching for a lighter and comes up empty. The unlit cigarette brings him comfort the same way a pacifier would, content to just feel the weight of it dangling between his lips as he swivels back and forth in Bev’s chair and logs onto her computer.

It takes him the better part of an hour to navigate her various itineraries and confirmation emails to track down his plane ticket for New Years’, coming to the conclusion that he doesn’t pay Bev enough for keeping all of this in order. He manages to snag a second first class seat next to his, and immediately forwards the ticket to Eddie.

_ Think about it. _

_ -R _

  
  


* * *

Beverly calls him less than an hour after the purchase goes through.

_ “Richie, what the hell is this charge I just saw come through from Southwest?” _ she demands the moment the line connects.

Richie tells Alexa to pause Iron Man 3 (which is totally a Christmas movie, in Richie’s humble opinion) and puts his phone on speaker for the sake of his eardrums. “Well, helloooo Miss Ringwald. You and Ben finally back in cell service range after doing your hot-people hikes in Machu Picchu or whatever?”

_ “First of all, we’re in St. Lucia, not Peru, Mr. Failed High School Geography,”  _ she drawls, static brushing between her words like a cellular speech impediment. _ “Second of all, answer my goddamn question.” _

“Ah, yeah, the airline called about some kinda upgrade for the flight to New York. I just told ‘em to go ahead and book it.”

_ “You were as upgraded as they come, you posh little bitch.” _

So Richie liked the comfort of the fancy pods when he had to take a six hour flight cross-country with an additional three hour time zone change. Sue him.

_ “You know, I can at least respect when you lie to me if there’s any effort whatsoever. Seriously, it’s like you're not even trying,” _ she continues.  _ “I can see the receipt right here, dipshit. It gets sent to that business email that you can’t even log into because of your inability to remember any passwords that don’t include ‘420’ or ‘69’ in them.” _

“I thought I hired you to remember all my passwords anyway,” Richie deflects.

_ “Why are there two tickets, Richie?”  _ she presses.

“I, uh… I invited Eddie.”

Silence.

“Did I lose you, Bev? Did you get mauled by a rabid wolverine or something?”

_ “There are no wolverines in the Caribbean, Rich,”  _ she answers flatly.  _ “I’m still here, I just had to take a second to put my phone down and scream into the void about how stupid my boss is.” _

“Oh, yeah? And what did the void have to say about your stupid boss?”

_ “The void said that you better not screw things up again with the guy that’s you’re so helplessly in love with that it’s painful for the rest of us to watch.” _

“Well, you can let the void know I’m doing my best, and I’m pretty sure Eddie and I are on the same page now,” Richie can’t help but smile like a complete dolt, mind momentarily straying to the image of barefooted Eddie fussing about in his kitchen in stolen clothes. “He gave me a solid maybe to New York, so things are looking up.”

_ “Wait— You bought the ticket and he hasn’t even said he’d go yet?!” _

“Gotta go, Red! Enjoy your candlelit helicopter rides and your rose petal sex baths with Benji-Boy.”

_ “Richie, I’m going to maim y—” _

“See ya in New Yawk!” he crows over her distorted threats before hanging up. He puts his phone on Do Not Disturb and Facetimes Peggy before Bev can continue to bombard him with callbacks he’ll just ignore.

She’s still in one piece, thankfully, and seems to be having a great time with Cassie and her grandparents, talking a mile a minute about how cool the Pike Place Market is and how it’s been raining and snowing non-stop all day, something she’s delighted about rather than annoyed by. He supposes when you grow up in a place where it’s seventy degrees and sunshine three hundred and fifty days out of the year, even the most dreary of weather can be cause for celebration. She starts flagging quickly, talking around yawns as the red-eye begins to catch up to her. She passes the phone off to her mother so he can exchange the usual brief, stilted dialogue with her. He at least has the decency to fake smiles for her and her parents, a pretense that isn’t returned as Cassie tells him they have to go so Peggy can get a nap in before they all go ice skating later this evening.

The house feels a little emptier after the call. A part of him feels like he should ring up his parents next, if only he didn’t feel like doing so would inconvenience them on their month long relaxation stint at their timeshare in Florida. He tries it anyway, unsurprised when attempts to both of his parents’ cells go to voicemail.

The quietness over the next two days drives him a little insane. He spends most of it glued to his laptop, revising the scripts for Season Four of  _ Open Casket _ and sending off ideas about how much he wants to stretch the budget to the other producers who won’t even get to his ridiculous requests until after the holidays.

Still no contact from Eddie by the 28th, the day of their flight. He gets about a million alerts from his phone that Bev had pre-scheduled, some kind of message every half hour or so warning him how much time he had left to leave for the airport by. Richie ignores them in favor of spending most of his morning drafting a few dozen different texts to send to Eddie, eventually settling on:

_ i’m assuming ur the kind of person who shows up to the airport 6 hours before the flight leaves? _

Richie putts around his house for the next hour, watering Bev’s plants and packing, unpacking, and re-packing his suitcase before he finally calls his Uber thirty minutes after Bev’s alert told him to do so. It’s sitting in the backseat on his way to LAX when he finally gets a reply.

_ Try half of that, but you never know with LA traffic. _

_ You didn’t have to buy my ticket, you know. _

_ what’s a sugar daddy good for? _

Eddie replies with puking emojis.

_ u should be proud of me _ , Richie texts. _ i’m in my uber now, 2 whole hours early. should i have him swing by ur place to pick you up? _

Richie doesn’t think he blinks once as he fixates on those three little dots appearing and disappearing for the next few minutes.

_ I’m sorry, Richie. I don’t think I should go. _

_ I’ll pay you back for the ticket. _

Richie swallows the lump in his throat. The last thing he wants is to get on Twitter later and see some girl’s tweet about how Richie Tozier was crying in the back of her Honda Civic.

_ dw about it _

_ happy new year eds _

The dots are back for a solid five minutes before they disappear for good, no text following.

The LAX experience goes about as expected. The TSA pre-check guy asks him to do half of the impressions in his roster as he pretends there’s an issue with his ID to prolong his celebrity interaction for the day. He takes a couple of selfies with some twenty-somethings on the way to his gate, gets an iced coffee from Starbucks and ignores the middle-aged guy sneakily taking photos of him in line, and is seated in front of his gate two minutes before Bev’s reminder dings in his pocket.

“You fucking loser,” he chastises himself under his breath, still keeping an eye out in case Eddie might change his mind. He hates the way his heart skips a beat anytime he catches a flash of someone around Eddie’s height and stature walk by in the terminal, only for it to plummet with the realization it’s just some stranger with neatly coiffed brown hair.

The Executive Premier Luxury Mileage Whatever the Fuck groups are called for boarding one after another and Richie dithers, his first class ticket heavy in his pocket. He fiddles with the handle of his carry-on, slowly rising to his feet as the rest of the passengers file through the gate. He finds himself at the end of the line, dragging each foot forward as the Southwest associate behind the counter makes the last call for boarding.

“Richie!”

He ignores it at first, the distant call of his name. He may have even imagined it. He certainly is imagining the fact that it sounds suspiciously like Eddie’s panicked timbre, rather than what’s probably just some fan trying to get his attention.

“Hey,  _ Richie _ —”

The same voice comes from directly behind him now, Richie whirling around and nearly taking out Eddie’s shins with his roller bag.

Wait.

“Eds?” he croaks, wondering if this is one of those dreams where he’s going to wake up in bed and realize he’s already missed his flight by two hours.

Even his subconscious probably couldn’t do this well at conjuring up the details of Eddie’s face, particularly the little notch between his thick eyebrows drawn into what can only be described as a determined pout. His lips are pressed into that tight line, his mouth opening and closing a few times like those mounted singing bass as he considers himself. “I-I’m sorry. I wasn’t going to come but then— I-I don’t know, it was stupid for me to not give you a chance and— God, you really had to go and just buy me a first class plane ticket to come to New York with you, like, who just  _ does  _ that?”

They stare at each other for a moment, Eddie slightly out of breath either from the end-over-end stammering or the fact that he probably sprinted here all the way from security.

“You’re fucking ridiculous, you know that?” Eddie continues, flustered, frustrated, and glaring at him nearly nose-to-nose.

Richie can’t help it. He kisses him.

Hands framing either side of Eddie’s face, Richie half-expects to be shoved away. It’s a welcome surprise when Eddie just clutches him closer, one hand balled in the front of his shirt while the other desperately grasps his wrist. Richie kisses him like he might never get to again, savoring the way Eddie’s lips part just as eagerly against his own. Eddie’s insistent tongue presses past his lips, greedily stroking against the back of his teeth as he pushes himself higher up onto his toes to better dominate the kiss.

Eddie is the one to pull away after the inappropriate amount of PDA for a crowded airport terminal, lips flushed and cheeks ruddy. “Jesus, how many Christmas rom coms did you watch?” He accuses.

Richie feels like he just ran a marathon, eyes slightly unfocused as he stares at the face still clutched between his hands. “You’re the one who rushed to show up last minute to the airport,” he points out. “That’s like, textbook romcom hero move, dude.”

“I did not  _ rush _ . It’s not my fault everyone in LA traffic drives like a complete asshole and made me so late—”

“Um, sirs? This is the last call for boarding if you’re headed to JFK,” the gate agent cuts their argument short, looking vaguely ashamed for her intrusiveness.

“Right, sorry—  _ Oh my god _ —” Eddie fumbles for his bag, face stoplight-red as he steps forward to have his ticket scanned.

Richie knows no such embarrassment, ludicrously smug as he trails after his flight companion, just grinning wider when the gate attendant conspiratorially lifts her eyebrows at him after Eddie walks past. 

“Enjoy your flight,” she giggles.

“Yeah, you too,” Richie replies in a daze before jogging down the ramp to catch up to Eddie mall-walking to the plane.

They’re the last two to board, Eddie smoothing out his hair as he claims his window seat, lest someone see what a mess Richie made of it with his fingers and suspect anything.  _ So goddamn cute _ .

“Wow, boujie much?” Eddie questions with a quirked eyebrow, investigating the many comfort control buttons on his arm rest and the cocktail menu propped up on the counter in front of them.

Richie tosses his backpack in the overhead before plopping into his own seat, stretching his legs out in front of him. “You have seen the size of me right? These legs don’t fit in coach, baby,” he grins, slapping his own thigh.

Eddie rolls his eyes, but Richie can tell when he turns his face to look out the window it’s only to hide his smile. “This is kind of exciting,” he says after a moment. “I’ve never flown first class before.”

“Funny, I took you for a nervous flyer,” Richie comments as he gets settled in his half of the pod, immediately starting to recline his seat until he’s leveled with a look from a passing attendant. Right, have to wait until after takeoff. He knew that.

“Don’t be stupid, Rich. It’s the safest form of travel,” Eddie admonishes, crossing one leg over the other as he flips through the safety manual. “And I took a Xanax before I got to the airport,” he adds under his breath.

Richie laughs loudly enough for the glaring flight attendant to shush him from a row down.

Despite his soaring heart, Richie somehow manages to sleep through most of the flight, still smiling like a dope when he wakes up to Eddie’s complaints about drool on his shoulder as they make their descent. They touch ground in New York at 10:22 pm EST, Richie feeling wide awake after his nap with his body still on Pacific Time.

He makes the mistake of checking Twitter as they exit the plane, at first wondering why his notifications are way more active than usual, only to refresh his feed and see why.

“Uh, Eds, we might have a small problem,” he jogs down the ramp, catching his sleeve before he can reach the terminal entrance.

“What, you forget your Nintendo Switch on the plane or something?” Eddie scoffs.

“Nope,” Richie pops his lips on the ‘P’, turning his phone so Eddie can see. “We’re trending.”

He watches Eddie frown at the screen in confusion, his eyes squint and then widen, and then the phone is being wrenched from his hand. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“If it helps, no one can really tell who you are,” Richie winces, scratching the back of his neck.

The photo is blurry and grainy, clearly taken on a cell phone at least a few generations old from a fairly far distance, zoomed in to capture Richie sticking his tongue down Eddie’s throat in the middle of LAX. While one half of the public snogging is obviously stand-up legend Richie Tozier, both the angle and Richie’s hands obscure Eddie’s identity completely. From the limited amount of tweets he did see, the response is mostly positive if not a little inappropriately nosy about their relationship. He’s sure it wouldn’t take very much scrolling to start to see the less than savory opinions on the photo, which Richie is more than happy to call out by retweeting them with a little public roasting just to remind them that sometimes the internet will have consequences.

Eddie shakes his head and hands Richie’s phone back, the trending tab glaring up at him. “Jesus, is this what it’s going to be all the time?”

“Not if I figure out a way to keep my hands off you in public,” Richie grins.

“Well, then we’re doomed,” Eddie deadpans, shrugging into his coat before they have to leave the warm comfort of the terminal and brace the freezing, New York December air.

Luckily for the both of them, Bev’s forethought to book a private driver to take them directly to the hotel circumvents any chance of bumping into paparazzi who may or may not have caught wind of his viral moment. Richie’s greatest obstacle leaving the airport is trying not to grope Eddie in the back of the town car, the partition between the front and back regrettably down the entire time while Eddie chats with the driver about the fact that he had a short stint as a personal driver after college. Even if it means no backseat hanky panky, he  _ does  _ like trying to imagine someone with as much road rage as Eddie trying to be professional in front of whatever LA clientele he had to tote around back in the day.

They pass through the hotel lobby without any issue, the receptionist glancing at Richie out of the corner of his eye like he knows his face but can’t quite place him as he hands over their room keys. ABC put them up in some nice digs, two connected suites, each with a king bed that Richie now looks forward to sharing with Eddie instead of starfishing out all on his lonesome.

“Wow,” Eddie breathes, dropping his bag onto an ottoman as he walks over to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows facing out towards the city.

He wanders over and joins Eddie, looking out at the seemingly endless stretch of skyscrapers from their 79th-story vantage point. The sky is velvet black behind the blinding lights of the buildings below it. They can see Central Park from here, every single tree trussed up with sparkling white lights, the ground and roofs of surrounding buildings covered in a light dusting of snow. 

The view is admittedly picturesque, even though the city has long since lost its luster in Richie’s mind. It’s easy to be enthralled at first sight, especially way up here in one of the ritziest hotels Manhattan has to offer, the darker, grimier parts of the city that Richie knew too well damn near impossible to see. Richie blankly stares at the jagged horizon, missing his California Palms and sandy boardwalks and smog, and mostly missing the heat. He’s never been a big snow guy, much preferring the privilege of being able to lay out on a big flamingo pool floatie in an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt for three hundred days out of the year. He never owned a car while living here, but he pitied those who he saw fighting their numbing hands to scrape seven inches of snow off their windows in zero degree weather. He certainly doesn’t miss busting his ass on black ice while wandering the filthy sidewalks of the city, drunk or stoned or both. LA isn’t perfect, but it’s kind of perfect for Richie and his little household, so there’s really no comparison to the city where he made some of his most hapless decisions.

“The night is still young here, y’know,” Richie gestures out to the enticing, glittering city before them. “We could make ourselves feel ancient and go clubbing, check out the Christmas lights, shop at the most overpriced stores in America, do some other stupid tourist shit—”

He’s got an armful of Eddie before he can finish the sentence. The kiss is as insistent as the one they shared at the airport, but slower somehow. Richie would swear they’re kissing in slow motion, Eddie’s tongue rubbing alongside his own as his hands slip into his messy curls, knocking his glasses askew. His own hands find their place on Eddie’s trim waist, a puzzle-piece fit where the heels of his palms press into the notches above his hips. He could kiss Eddie forever like this, suspended eight hundred feet in the air while the rest of the world below spins on without them. Richie presses his hips flush against Eddie’s, feeling his back hit the cool surface of the glass behind them as Eddie rubs shamelessly against his front, moans and gasps slipping through the very occasional space between their mouths.

Eddie tugs Richie’s lower lip gently with his teeth before breaking the kiss, his own mouth red and kiss-bitten. “We can do stupid tourist shit tomorrow,” he mumbles, slipping out of Richie’s useless jelly arms. “Right now, I need to shower off all these airport germs.”

“Yeah, okay,” Richie acknowledges dumbly, feeling more than weak in the knees as he leans back against the glass and watches Eddie retrieve a smaller toiletry bag from his suitcase and walk to the bathroom.

Eddie pauses by the door and raises an eyebrow at him. “You’re going to join me.”

“Yeah, okay,” he repeats with no renewed intelligence, tripping over the bag he had carelessly left on the floor as he follows Eddie into the bathroom.

He strips out of his layers as Eddie methodically sets up all his travel-sized bottles along the shower shelves, the glass-enclosed shower itself ridiculously large. Richie could stand in the center and spread his arms to their full albatross-length wingspan and still not touch any of the walls. He’s down to his undershirt and jeans when Eddie turns back to look at him, an almost shy expression on his face as he unzips his coat and lets it fall to the stark white floor.

Richie helps him out of the rest of his clothes, their laughter mingling in slight echo as their hands tangle in an attempt to undress one another. After some light groping, Richie stands there completely naked in front of Eddie for the second time, but somehow feels like it’s simultaneously the first and hundredth time. His cock hangs between his legs, soft but heavy with potential as he gets an eyeful of Eddie’s ass when the other man turns away to turn on the waterfall showerhead. He leans against the wall, just watching as Eddie steps under the spray once it’s hot enough, his body shuddering naturally as it reacts to the sudden heat. 

Eddie looks back at him, blinking water away from his eyes as he pushes his dark hair back from his forehead. “You just going to stand there all night?”

“Thinking about it,” Richie murmurs, wondering what kind of voyeuristic tendencies Eddie has awoken in him to the point where he’s content to just stand there and ogle the other man while he showers.

Eddie really is kind of fucking beautiful, in an understated yet completely slap-you-in-the-face-obvious kind of way. His tan lines are barely visible along his thighs and his arms, his skin keen on soaking in that California sun on days he’s lucky enough to wear shorts and a tank top. The light brown of his skin turns red where the water immediately hits it, the dusting of freckles on his shoulders and upper chest standing out against flushed skin. Richie wants to run his mouth over every part of him, and the fact that he can just  _ do that _ makes his balls tighten despite the heat.

Richie slips his glasses off, dropping them onto the tank of the toilet where he’s sure to forget they are come tomorrow morning as he blindly stumbles around the suite looking for them. He steps onto the wet, honeycomb tiles, reaching out to run his knuckles from the base of Eddie’s spine all the way up to the nape of his neck.

“I do actually want to get clean, you know,” Eddie remarks, a smile evident in his voice as he turns away to pour some body wash into the palm of his hand.

“I’m not stopping you,” Richie murmurs against the back of his neck, his hands covetously stroking Eddie’s flanks as he sidles closer. His hips are flush against Eddie, settled perfectly against the toned curve of his ass.

He hears the softest of sighs slip past Eddie’s lips, almost lost in the sound of the shower’s spray. Richie stays plastered against his back, watching the wiry muscles in his arms flex as he scrubs them clean. “If you’re going to stay glued to me like a fucking octopus, the least you could do is wash my back.”

“With pleasure,” Richie replies with a grin, more than happy to lather up his hands and put them all over Eddie’s compact little frame. He gently massages as he goes, thumbs rolling out the knots bunched up beneath Eddie’s bony shoulder blades, easing some of the tension around his neck as he kneads the heels of his palms along the top of his shoulders.

Eddie quickly relinquishes the urge to stifle his moans, his hand flashing forward to slap against the wet shower wall to keep himself stable as Richie really starts to work at his lumbar. “Fuck, you’re good at that,” he whines, his other hand slicking back the hair that had flopped down over his forehead.

“God gave me these big monkey paws for a reason,” Richie hums, his cock stirring with interest with every moan he manages to coax out of Eddie while allowed to freely fondle his back muscles. He lets his hands trail lower, massaging the sides of Eddie’s glutes, groaning himself when he watches the way his ass tightens up.

“Richie,” Eddie sounds out of breath, his shoulders trembling slightly as he leans more heavily against the wall. His upper half is out of the water’s spray now, rivulets of clear water tracing the defined planes of his back. “I-I’m ready.”

Richie continues to grope his ass, mesmerized by the way his fingers look spread wide across his smooth cheeks. “Ready for what?”

“ _ Asshole _ ,” he huffs out in frustration, one hand curling into a fist against the tile. “You just want to hear me say it.”

“Mmhm, nothing wrong with that,” Richie smiles, letting his hands stray lower, massaging the tops of his thighs as he presses closer again. He’s pretty hard now, and has a feeling Eddie might be with the way his hips twitch forward once he feels Richie’s erection nestled against his tailbone. “Speak up, now. Share with the whole class.”

“Ugh, no school-related dirty talk, please,” Eddie groans. He turns his face coyly into his shoulder, long lashes clumped together with wetness as he glances back at him. “Richie… can you finger me?”

Richie’s brain fully short-circuits, a dangerous event when soaking wet. He fully blames his mouth for what comes out of it next, his brain currently incapacitated and unable to filter the first joke that jumps to the forefront of his tongue. “I don’t know, Mr. K,  _ can  _ I?”

“Richie.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Richie laughs, pressing his face into Eddie’s back, the other man’s shoulders shaking with laughter despite his dry tone. “Do you really want me to?” he asks more seriously, tracing a hand lightly between Eddie’s cheeks, letting his thumb press between them ever so slightly.

Eddie inhales sharply, nodding his head. Richie needs absolutely zero convincing past that, using one hand to pull aside a cheek, letting his index finger press against the tight furl of his entrance. He rubs the pad of his finger against him, water sluicing over both of them and offering at least a little assistance since none of the little bottles Eddie brought into the shower with them contained proper lube. He gets the tip of his finger inside Eddie fairly easily, the tight ring yielding just enough to allow him to slip into the first knuckle. He gently teases, barely curling his fingertip inside of Eddie to help loosen him up, only feeling him tighten again after he’s got the first digit fully inside.

“You okay?” Richie asks quietly, pressing a kiss to the side of Eddie’s neck. He slowly slides his finger out before pressing it in again, Eddie’s hips jumping forward slightly.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Eddie claims, the tightness of his voice betraying him. “I just haven’t… I’ve never let anyone else…”

“But do  _ you _ ..?” Richie prompts, having already picked up on the fact that if he can get Eddie to talk through it, he immediately loses most of that tenseness wound tight in his body and rooted deep in his heart as soon as physical intimacy comes into play.  _ We’re both talkers in our own right, huh? _

“Y-Yeah, I do—  _ oh fuck _ ,” Eddie’s head drops forward, his forearms now both fully braced against the wall in front of them as Richie curls his finger fully inside of him. Richie lays his other hand over one of Eddie’s, their fingers splayed, overlapping each other as Richie interlocks their hands against the cold tile. “Been doing it a lot more lately.”

“Oh yeah?” Richie grins against the juncture where Eddie’s neck meets his shoulder, easing his finger in and out at a steady pace, feeling Eddie’s muscles tighten with absence everytime he drags it out to just the tip. “How come?”

Eddie huffs in front of him, and Richie can barely make out the corner of a smile as his chin drops to his chest. “So I wouldn’t totally embarrass myself in front of the first man I’ve had sex with in over a year—” another moan escapes him as he tilts his ass upward, Richie beginning to tease another finger at his hole. “—And someone I actually  _ like _ .”

He doesn’t expect such a wholesome answer to his goading question, his heart pounding in his chest as he inserts another digit, Eddie opening up beautifully around him. He dares to look down between their bodies, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood as he watches the way Eddie’s ass clenches around him as he begins to stretch him with two fingers. “Tell me— Tell me about it. When you finger yourself.”

Eddie whimpers, his head pressing against the wall right next to where their hands are locked together. “I do it in the shower most of the time… it’s easier when I feel like I’m getting clean—” His body tenses when Richie buries two fingers inside of him, a gasp shuddering out from his chest. “S-Sometimes in bed but I—  _ shit _ — can’t always get the angle ri— Oh,  _ right there _ —”

_ There it is _ . Richie curls his fingers inside of Eddie, rubbing them against his prostate as Eddie’s back arches beautifully in front of him, his chest now fully pressed to the tile. Richie is fully erect now, his cock standing at attention just inches away from where Eddie’s ass is writhing back onto his hand. He wants to keep pushing, get a third finger inside while he has Eddie wanton and open, finally relaxed. On the other hand, he wants to take his time, and he’s pretty sure that’s what Eddie wants too, even if his brain is too clouded with pleasure right this moment to know better.

“I want you on the bed,” Richie pants, still pumping his two fingers as deep as they’ll go as he crowds Eddie up against the wall, moaning as his cock gets sandwiched between their bodies. Eddie is radiating heat right now, an inferno of a man that Richie is happy to melt into.

“Fuck— yes—  _ Richie— _ ” Eddie twists around to better face him, Richie managing to keep his fingers thrusting inside as their lips slant together, open-mouthed and  _ wanting _ .

They don’t really dry off, Richie blindly shutting off the shower as they stumble out of the bathroom, both of them such a fucking safety hazard that they’re lucky no one slips and cracks their skull open on the expensive ass marble flooring. They fall onto the enormous bed in a splay of naked, wet limbs, their bodies sliding alongside one another seeking purchase.

“I want to try something,” Richie straightens up on his knees, grabbing Eddie by the calves to flip him over onto his stomach. He slides his hands up the back of Eddie’s legs, fingers digging into the meat of his thighs as he scoots lower onto the bed. “Tell me if you don’t like it and I’ll stop.”

Eddie half-twists to look back at him, realizing his intentions. “Rich, you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Richie insists, having been waiting for this moment since the last time he had his head between Eddie’s thighs— And far before that if he’s being honest with himself. “What if I promise not to try and kiss you after?” Richie bargains with a grin.

Eddie scoffs and relaxes slightly onto the mattress, a reluctant sigh escaping him as Richie massages the backs of his thighs. Richie lays a small bite to one cheek just because he can before spreading Eddie wide and dragging his tongue flat over his entrance. A louder gasp shudders above him, Richie taking it as encouragement to continue.

Eddie tastes soapy and clean, probably exactly how he’d want it before he’d allow Richie to eat him out. He starts with easy, teasing licks, circling his tongue around Eddie’s hole before gently prodding at it. He’s still loose and relaxed from the shower, the tip of Richie’s tongue easily sliding past the initial barrier. He hears a soft  _ oh  _ muffled into the sheets, and briefly wonders if this is the first time Eddie’s ever let someone do this to him. If that _ is _ the case, Richie’s more than happy to indulge. He licks sloppily, hungrily, burying his face between Eddie’s cheeks while he lets his hands roam over his thighs and up to his hips. He drags Eddie upwards, sitting back just enough to lift his hips off the bed. Eddie whines above him, Richie opening his eyes to see his hands twisted in the sheets, his face turned to the side so he can  _ watch _ .

_ Fuck. _

Richie continues to fuck Eddie with his tongue, reaching up to gently fondle his sac with one hand after Eddie gets his knees under him to hold him up. “Holy fuck— Richie—” Whatever expletives Eddie utters next are suppressed into the mattress, his body taut as a bowstring as Richie laves his tongue insistently across his entrance.

When he finally pulls away, jaw sore and tongue tingling, Eddie’s skin is flushed where Richie’s stubble had been rubbing against him. Desire courses through him like a riptide, the phantom, sensual pull in his pelvis nearly giving him whiplash as he takes in Eddie spread out in front of him like a fucking buffet. He leans over his body again, pressing a kiss to the base of his spine as he easily dips two of his fingers back inside of his dripping hole. “Are you ready?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” Eddie groans as if he thought Richie would never ask. “Can we—” Eddie twists beneath him, rolling onto his back and “I-I wanna see you.”

Richie’s heart is thudding so loudly in his chest that it must be impossible for Eddie not to hear it. He wouldn’t even blame Eddie if he wanted to do it doggy-style or any other position that didn’t include Richie’s sweaty body hunched over him, panting like an animal in heat. He’s not exactly Chris Hemsworth. The first time they had sex Richie had been the one to initiate the position, mostly out of ease for Eddie to avoid some of the awkwardness first-time missionary anal can bring. But beneath that had been Richie’s own insecurities when it came to sex, perhaps not as deep-rooted as Eddie’s hangups, but brimming with untapped self-deprication all the same. Eddie  _ wants  _ to see him, wants to be face to face. More than that, the expression on his face tells Richie that he’s going to get his way.

“Shit,” Richie realizes, eyes jumping from Eddie’s beautiful cock curved up against his abdomen to his face. “I didn’t bring any condoms.” _ I didn’t think you were coming _ .

He can tell by Eddie’s expression before he even opens his mouth that they’re in the same boat. “Oh my god,” Eddie presses a hand to his forehead. “I didn’t either. I have lube in my bag and I totally forgot the  _ condoms _ .”

They stare at each other for a moment, the haze of lust momentarily broken as they both break into a fit of laughter, two grown men who between them can’t even remember to bring a box of condoms on a romantically proposed trip.

“Is it—” Eddie bites his lip, giggles tapering off. “Is it wrong that I still want to?”

Richie’s eyebrows flick upwards. “ _ Wrong _ ? Hell no, it’s not. I mean, I’m clean, but… Eds, are you sure?” He reaches up, brushing a damp lock of hair back from Eddie’s forehead. He lets his thumb trace over the harsh line between his brows, smoothing it out. “We can always do other stuff, we don’t have to—”

“Rich,” Eddie says softly, capturing his wrist. “I… I want to. If we’re both clean… I trust you.”

Richie swallows thickly, staring down between their bodies, his own erection bobbing between his thighs. The joke he wants to make about not lasting long at all if they’re barebacking gets stuck in his esophagus, the very real idea of him sliding into Eddie with no barriers making him light-headed.

“Is this all it takes to silence the Trashmouth?” Eddie asks after a beat, teasing smile on his face as he squirms beneath him, bending a leg enticingly. “I should’ve let you fuck me ages ago.”

A laugh startles its way out of him, Richie planting his arms on either side of Eddie’s head as he leans over him, forgetting his previous promise to not kiss him. Eddie doesn’t seem to mind, moaning softly into his mouth as they trade tender, eager kisses. Eddie’s tongue flicks against the roof of his mouth as he lifts a leg, hooking it around Richie’s back encouragingly. Reluctantly, he backs out of the embrace to fetch the lube from the side pocket on Eddie’s bag, the bottle just small enough to meet TSA requirements. Leave it to Eddie to take something like that into consideration.

He returns to the bed, warming the lube in the palm of his hand as he kneels between Eddie’s legs once more. He takes his cock carefully into his own loose fist, wary not to nudge himself too close towards orgasm as he slicks himself up. Eddie’s watching him through hooded lids, appetite so strong in his dark gaze that Richie doesn’t even bother to feel self-conscious. He stays seated back on his haunches as he dribbles a little more lube onto his fingers, two of them sliding easily into Eddie’s already stretched hole.

He can see impatience etched across Eddie’s face and strung high through his body, the muscles of his thighs and abdomen flexing with each twist of his fingers. Richie’s trying to be generous here; He wants to make sure Eddie is nice and prepped before he goes shoving his dick inside of him. He remembers the first time  _ he  _ bottomed, over-eager and thinking he was primed enough in his lust-fogged brain only to get a rude awakening once something a little wider than a couple of fingers pushed inside of him.

“Richie,  _ please— _ ” Eddie groans, flushing all the way from his chest to his cheeks as he practically writhes down onto Richie’s palm.

“Okay _ — _ yeah, okay,” Richie breathes, so focused on his administrations to Eddie that he hasn’t even realized how hard he is, aching and trembling as he takes his cock in hand and nudges the bare head of it against Eddie’s opening. The lube helps them both along, simultaneous groans mingling in the space between them as Richie sinks in as deep as he can go with the given angle.

“Ah _ — Oh— _ ” Eddie blinks wide-eyed at the ceiling above them, his back arching away from the bed as he adjusts to the feeling of being so intimately breached.

“Is this good?” Richie rubs a comforting hand over the smooth plane of his hip, frantically searching his face for any discomfort.

He finds none there as Eddie’s gaze comes back down to earth, misty and unfocused as he lifts one of his legs, folding it beneath Richie’s outstretched arm and extending it upwards until his calf is resting on his shoulder. The new position seems to open him up more, Richie sinking in another inch until he’s nearly buried to the hilt. He bows forward, all his strength surging through his body to keep himself upright rather than fold like a lawn chair right on top of Eddie’s supine form. He lifts his head, rolling his hips experimentally and watching as Eddie falls apart, his lips parted and his head tipped back against the pillows.

“ _ Fuck—  _ Yes, it’s good, Rich— _ Move— _ ” he urges, pressing the knee of his leg still laying on the mattress into Richie’s side like he’s trying to urge a horse forward.

He doesn’t need to be told twice (although he’d like to be told what to do by Eddie many, many times in future endeavors), immediately gripping the leg still hooked over his shoulder, anchoring himself to it as he pumps his hips experimentally, sliding out a couple of inches before pushing himself back in  _ agonizingly  _ slow.

Eddie’s so tight it makes his eyes water. Richie tries to fill his head with as many unsexy thoughts as possible— old lady on the toilet, Denzel Washington’s weird pinky, the pimple-ridden face of the mouthbreather who used to work at his favorite arcade— Any of his usual conjurings for instant boner-killing are no match for the actual sight in front of him and the sounds filling the room. He was generous almost to a fault with the amount of lube he used, each slide and movement accompanied by an obscene squelch, only drowned out by the lewd things coming out of Eddie’s mouth.  _ He’s coming for your gig, Trashmouth, _ Richie thinks errantly, deciding not to waste anymore time in treating him with baby gloves.

Still holding onto one of Eddie’s legs, Richie uses his free hand to hoist Eddie up higher by his hips, lifting his ass and leaning forward until their chests are almost flush against one another. Eddie is  _ stupid  _ flexible, like, leads-a-double-life-as-a-Polish-gymnast flexible. His knee is pressing into his own shoulder without any sign of trouble as Richie has him practically folded in half, driving into him over and over again, pace relentless. The angle sends them both into a shared fervor, each thrust punching these delectable little moans past Eddie’s lips, Richie’s own breathless grunts mingling in the heady space between them. The motion of his hips grows more frantic, emboldened by Eddie’s nonsensical pleading for _ faster, more, harder, right there, yes—! _

One hand fisted in the sheets at his side, Eddie lifts his other arm to loop around Richie’s broad shoulders, fingernails biting into the skin as he’s fucked into the bed with all the pent up anticipation they’ve both held too close to the chest at times. A mixture of shower moisture and sweat melds them together, foreheads joined and lips desperately meeting through both of their brazen vocalizations. Richie can hardly form a coherent thought in that moment, but if he could, it would be something along the lines of  _ it’s not possible he can be so fucking tight _ . Eddie slides his fingers through the damp curls on the back of Richie’s skull, pulling so hard that white spots flash in his vision.

It drives him right over the edge, falling blindly, rapidly through the throes of euphoria as that perfect, wet heat of Eddie envelops him completely. Richie’s grip clenches tight around one of Eddie’s asscheeks as he hits the crest of his orgasm, face buried in his neck as he finally comes, emptying himself inside with assumed permission. Eddie— shameless, untamed, combustible Eddie— tumbles right after him, a telltale warmth spurting across both their stomachs as he clenches around Richie’s throbbing length, still pistoning into him as their bodies buck in tandem.

The afterglow is hazy and warm, like an LA sunset. Instead of smog and light pollution casting impossibly beautiful colors across his vision, it’s the cedary scent of Eddie’s soap and the underlying miasma of sex hanging heavy in the air that overwhelm his senses. He faintly registers Eddie’s request to not be glued together at their fronts by semen, sluggishly being rolled onto his side so a wet washcloth can be retrieved. A pleasant exhaustion settles over him, eyes shut as he waits for Eddie’s return, presumably after he’s done taking care of the mess currently leaking out of him. His softened cock twitches feebly at the thought, a low sigh slipping past Richie’s parted lips.

He feels the bed dip next to him, eyes fluttering open as Eddie swipes a small towel over his stomach and chest, his nose wrinkled amiably as he does his best to get the dried spunk out of his chest hair. “I’ve been fighting that losing battle since sixteen, buddy,” Richie hums in amusement, the sound gravely in his lethargy.

“Jesus, I hope you weren’t this hairy at sixteen,” Eddie remarks, smiling so warmly at him that Richie could evaporate on the spot.

“So did my high school girlfriends,” Richie yawns, extending his arm to pull Eddie close to him. “Ask them how far their hopes went.”

“I’ll pass,” Eddie snorts, tugging on the sheets until Richie reluctantly lifts his body enough for them both to slide underneath. “Who cares what they thought anyway. I  _ like  _ your body.”

He’s lucky Eddie has already settled against his side with closed eyes, otherwise he might catch the pathetic sight that is Richie’s eyes welling with tears for a moment at the compliment. As much as he likes it when Eddie treats him with the sharper side of his tongue, he’s pretty happy being on the receiving end of some softer licks as well.

“Hey, Eds?” he murmurs after a few moments, Eddie’s face tucked into his neck, lips resting right against his slowing pulse.

“Hm?” he rumbles sleepily, the fingers gently combing over the hair on his stomach slowing to a stop.

“I’m really glad you changed your mind.”

Eddie doesn’t reply right away, Richie wondering if he was already halfway towards sleep when he spoke up. After a beat he feels Eddie’s lips curl into a smile against his throat. “Yeah, me too. You made it easy.”

Richie buries his nose into Eddie’s damp hair, drags in a deep inhale of his sandalwood shampoo, and sleeps better than he has in weeks.

* * *

The change in climate feels like a backhand from Jack Frost himself. The New England winters are a rude awakening every time Richie returns to this side of the country, but at least this time he has Eddie to brave the concrete tundra with. It helps that he looks unfairly adorable all bundled up in his long parka, the fur-lined hood pulled tight around his face from the moment they step out of the heated comfort of the hotel lobby.

Eddie was  _ made  _ for New York. Or, maybe more accurately, New York was made for him and just spent the last handful of centuries awaiting his arrival. It should come as no surprise that someone as costive and tightly wound as Eddie would thrive in a city like Manhattan where everyone is spirited nearly to a fault, driven and absolute in their self-sustaining goals. He navigates the subway better than Richie ever had when he first landed in the city, and his death glares keep a wide berth around them at all times.

The press is unavoidable, and after their little airport stunt, it’s near impossible to try and enjoy themselves around the city while keeping Eddie’s identity a secret for much longer. Even with all of his social media accounts set to private, Richie warns him that his more  _ dedicated  _ fans will eventually manage to unearth some kind of concrete evidence as to who he is. Eddie seems less bothered at the idea after some thought, having already come to the conclusion that with Richie’s fame will come certain levels of invasiveness from anyone with a camera phone. Plus, he gets way too much juvenile delight out of flipping off any paparazzi they see after Richie tells him they can’t get money off the pictures that way. (A total myth, by the way; They just blur it out instead and still find places to publish. But it’s still cute to watch Eddie give every camera they see the bird.)

Prying eyes aside, they do manage to get in all the montage-worthy sightseeing, Eddie forgoing the more stodgy tourist traps (the Empire State Building, Statue of Liberty, Fifth Avenue) in favor of seeking out what he’s actually interested in. Richie follows him dutifully through the MoMA and the latest exhibit at the Morgan Library, spending more time admiring Eddie in a turtleneck rather than the art around them. He sleeps in on the morning Eddie wakes up at the ass crack of dawn to go for his bucket list morning run around Central Park. They share a romantic stroll along the High Line and a less romantic but just as important stroll through the snow covered Coney Island boardwalks so Eddie can try a genuine Nathan’s hot dog, Richie’s favorite dog stand in the city despite what snooty hipster food critics on Instagram might have to say. They even meet up with some of Richie’s old SNL buddies that he reconnected with after becoming less of a shithead, and when Richie slips up and introduces Eddie as his boyfriend, he isn’t corrected. Eddie just smiles at him afterwards and squeezes his hand underneath the table, business continuing as usual.

Safe to say, waking up with his legs tangled with Eddie’s every morning is the best Christmas gift he’s ever gotten. Sure, the amount of sex they’re having has them both walking around the city a little funny, but you won’t find Richie complaining about that. Richie ignores Eddie’s jibes about choosing to stand when they take the subway, those hard, plastic seats absolute  _ murder  _ on his ass after Eddie had him bent over the kitchenette counter in their suite just a few hours earlier. He’s sure to return the favor, buying one of those donut seat cushions emblazoned with I <3 NY to gift to Eddie after he rode Richie’s dick like it was an untamed mustang and Eddie was the most eager, gay cowboy in the Wild West with something to prove. (Eddie didn’t like the analogy, but he doesn’t scrap the idea completely, sure he can work it into one of his raunchier routines.)

They meet Beverly at the airport when she flies in on the afternoon of the 30th. As excited as Richie is to be reunited with his right hand woman, he’s not quite willing to let his and Eddie’s little honeymoon bubble they had been floating around in for the past few days pop. At the very least, he doesn’t have to worry about explaining anything to her in regards to why Eddie is here.

He keeps an eye out for her familiar shock of red hair through the throng of people bustling through JFK occasionally whispering people-watching commentary to Eddie beside him, the two of them sharing snickers while they wait by the arrivals gate. Eddie manages to spot her first while Richie is distracted by a hipster in drop crotch pants and Heelys whizzing past, his sleeve tugged on with urgency.

“Uh, did you want to warn me that Peggy was coming?” Eddie asks with a short, nervous laugh.

“Huh? She’s n—” he turns his attention forward again, finding Bev in the crowd and following the line of her black coat sleeve down to see her hand-in-hand with his daughter, big, toothy smile lighting up her face.

When he sees Peggy coming towards him, Richie is hit with an unexpected wave of emotion beyond the initial second of surprise. They’ve spent time apart before; Even as often as Richie comes home to see her during tour, there’s been plenty of one to two week stints where his only way of seeing her is via FaceTime. Something about seeing her now though— whether the sentiment of the holiday or the circumstance in which they last saw each other is to blame— it makes him choke up.

He runs forward to meet her, dodging between bodies the best he can as he maneuvers through the crowd, too impatient to wait for them to cross an extra fifty feet. Unconcerned with onlookers, he falls into a crouch as Peggy skips forward to close the distance, released by Bev to crash into his front. She feels so  _ small—  _ God, was she always this small? He was kind of a runt when he was her age. Hopefully she doesn’t spring up by an extra foot or two seemingly overnight in her teen years and avoids the awkward lankiness gene altogether.

“Dad, you’re  _ crushing  _ me,” she grunts in his arms, wriggling as much as she can when trapped in a bear hug.

Richie refuses to release her despite the muffled protest, cheek pressed to the top of her woolen hat as he cradles her for as long as she’ll physically let him. He holds her by the shoulders even after he relinquishes his hold, looking her over to make sure all is well. “Hey, kiddo,” he grins, tugging on the end of one pigtail braid sticking out from underneath her cap. “How’s Mom?” he asks, casting the tailend of his questioning glance towards Beverly who’s clearly fighting a smile. She does love her surprises.

“Fine,” Peggy shrugs, looking up at Bev and back to him. “She and Aunt Bev talked about things and agreed that I could come to New York for New Year’s. What’s Mr. K doing here?”

The kid doesn’t miss a beat. It’s one of his favorite things about her until it’s not.

“Uhhh,” Richie answers blankly.

“Why don’t you go ask him yourself?” Beverly suggests, giving her a little pat on the back. 

Richie gets to his feet as she shrugs and trods forward towards Eddie, a wave of relief hitting him when he sees she’s still smiling in her approach, Eddie returning it somewhat hesitantly.

They both walk forward to meet them at a slower pace, Bev baring her teeth in a grit smile with her lips barely moving. “You let her go with Cassie?” she asks through a tightened jaw.

“She has all her limbs doesn’t she?” Richie mutters back.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Bev warns with a cold glare, immediately softening it as she holds her arms out to give Eddie a hug. She holds him for a moment, Richie hearing some sort of whispered exchange that makes Eddie laugh and turn a bit pink. “Let’s head to the hotel and get a bite to eat, I’m  _ starved _ .”

Richie climbs into the back of an Uber XL with Peggy, happy to hear her excited chattering again as she details all of the fun she had with her mom and grandparents in Seattle. It seems like Cassie held up her end of the bargain for once, and this was more than some scheme in which she could drag her child around in front of hired paparazzi for a wholesome, holiday photo-op. She and her parents spoiled Peg absolutely rotten, but he supposes there are much worse things that could’ve happened while she was under their care. He won’t be renegotiating custody any time soon, but it seems like a step in the right direction.

He only half-eavesdrops on Eddie and Beverly talking in the row of seats in front of them, mostly small talk about how Eddie is liking New York so far, but their voices occasionally lower, and they cast conspiratorial glances at Richie in the backseat before snickering. Bastards, the both of them.

He hangs back as they enter the hotel lobby, Bev and Peggy both rushing ahead to fight over who gets to press the elevator buttons. “So what did you tell her?” Richie asks when the girls are out of earshot, having to physically clasp his hands together in front of him to keep himself from holding Eddie’s out of impulse.

“The truth,” Eddie shrugs simply.

“You told her we’ve been banging like a couple of rabbits all week?”

“Jesus,  _ ew _ , Richie, no,” Eddie shakes his head. “I just told her you invited me to come with you and that was that. She didn’t seem bothered.”

The interrogation ends there as they all crowd into the elevator and head up to drop off their bags, neither Peggy nor Beverly commenting on the room situation as they claim their half of the linked suite. Peggy joins Richie and Eddie in their room while Bev gets showered and changed, immediately flopping onto the bed and hanging her head off the side as she peruses through a restaurant catalogue.

“If you stay upside down like that too long, all the blood is gonna rush to your head and never come back down, Booger-brain,” Richie comments, flicking her on the nose as he plops down next to her.

“Is that why yours is so big?” Eddie snarks with a grin, Richie not missing the way his eyes cut towards Peggy almost like he’s seeking approval.

“Mr. K gets off a good one!” Peggy crows in a nasally voice, holding her hands up to her eyes in a pair of  _ ok  _ signals to mimic a pair of glasses.

Richie’s mouth falls open. “I’m sorry— Is that supposed to be  _ me _ ?” Peggy just dissolves into a fit of giggles in response, nearly rolling off the bed in the process. “Your voices are gonna need some work, Kiddo.”

“I don’t know,” Eddie muses, chin in hand. “It sounded pretty darn close to me.”

“Yeah, yeah, yuk it up, you two, just don’t quit your day jobs,” Richie grumbles, glaring at both of them before reaching over to swipe the pamphlet from his daughter’s clutches.

They pick a restaurant (no fish, by Peggy’s request after having her fill in Washington) and let Bev work her magic to get them a four-top reservation for a late lunch/early dinner at a nearby Thai place. It’s a bustling, family-run place, their rowdy little bunch not even making a ripple in the rollicking atmosphere of other patrons and sprightly staff. They share food, divvying up the huge orders of larb, khao soi, and phad thai amongst themselves, knocking rice and noodles and sauces all over the table in the process. Richie’s thigh is pressed up against Eddie’s under the table, and he wastes no opportunity to sneak a hand over to squeeze his knee. He catches Bev’s smug look more than once and subtly uses his middle finger to push his glasses up onto his nose.

Stoked with pent-up energy even after the hours of travel, Peggy demands to go ice skating as they leave the restaurant, full-bellied and runny-nosed.

Bev hisses uncertainly at the suggestion, raising her eyebrows. “You might have to convince your dad on that one, Peg. He  _ sucks  _ at ice skating.”

“I do not!” Richie complains. “I’m just at a disadvantage with my center of gravity is all. Not to mention, I want nothing to do with a sport that includes having literal  _ blades  _ on your fucking  _ feet _ .”

“You ever see a baby giraffe being born, Eddie? Because that’s what Richie looks like. But on ice.”

“Well my vote is definitely in for ice skating then,” Eddie laughs, ignoring the pout on Richie’s face as he’s ganged up on yet again. He leans in close as they stop at the crosswalk, lowering his voice so the girls can’t hear. “I can hold your hand if you need it.”

“Alright, fine, let’s go ice skating!” Richie announces enthusiastically, Peggy pumping both fists in the air.

Rockefeller and Wollman are as crowded as one would suspect on New Year’s Eve  _ Eve _ , Richie finding the address to one of the lesser known outdoor rinks that will give them a decent amount of elbow room. Not nearly as swarmed with tourists when they arrive, they barely wait in line to get their rental skates, Richie feeling overly sentimental when Peggy asks him to help lace up her skates. He’s had plenty of those cliché Dad moments over the years, vividly remembering stepping away to cry when she stopped asking for help tying her shoes. It’s nice to still feel like she needs him every now and again, as independent as he raised the little stinker to be.

Eddie is unfairly apt on the ice despite claiming he hasn’t skated since he was a little kid, gliding along with ease as Richie hugs the wall and is taken pity on by Beverly and Peggy holding his hands on either side. His daughter, always itching to go as fast as humanly possible no matter the activity, eventually grows tired of playing support and demands Eddie race her around the rink, the two of them taking off.

Beverly spins around in front of him, effortlessly skating backwards as she continues to hold both of his hands, pulling him along. “Congrats on getting your shit together, Boss,” she winks before abandoning him as well.

Richie sticks to the outer wall, barely maintaining balance as families and couples zoom past him, mainly focusing on Eddie and Peggy as they zip around the ring. They overtake each other a few times, playfully grabbing at each other to either take the lead or push the other person forward. Eddie ends up victorious in the end (and boy, does Richie love that he didn’t just  _ let  _ her win), Peggy graciously accepting defeat before joining a group of kids who are learning how to do spins in the center of the rink. Eddie immediately cuts across the ice to get to him, making good on his promise and immediately grabbing Richie’s hand as they nearly collide into the wall.

“Jesus—!” Richie laughs, almost taking both of them down as he grips onto Eddie’s forearms and let’s the other man keep him upright. “Careful there, Michelle Kwan, we can’t have me breaking a hip.”

Eddie just grins at him, breath clouds intermingling between them as he intertwines their gloved fingers. “Alright, old man, we’ll take things slow.”

All it takes is one bad fall straight to his ass, and Richie is ready to hang up his skates for the evening. He hobbles off to swap off his skates for his trainers, immediately grateful to be able to walk on his own two feet again. He finds an empty bench and buys a cup of hot cocoa from the concession stand, content to watch and take videos of the three of them laughing and tumbling after each other on the ice. Eddie catches his eye more than once, cheeks flushed and smile bright enough to give the whole city a run for its money. He points towards the bench and raises his eyebrows, but Richie just shakes his head and waves him off. He can tell Eddie’s having a blast out there, the joyous exhilaration of something new so clear on his face. He’s more than happy to just witness it from the sidelines.

Peggy is the first to exit the ice, wobbling her way over to him as she navigates across the carpeted ground in her skates. He hands her his cocoa, his warning not to burn her tongue unheeded as she greedily gulps it down and immediately fans her tongue off in the freezing air afterwards.

“So, is Mr. K your boyfriend now?” She asks the moment her mouth is cooled down again.

It’s unfortunately the same moment Richie elects to take his own more cautious sip, and he learns the hard way that steaming milk does not feel good when it gets lodged in your nose. There’s not really a point in dodging her question point-blank, Richie standing by his parenting choice of the two of them never lying to each other. “Uh... yeah, I think so.”

“You  _ think  _ so?” Peggy casts a skeptical look his way. “ _ Come on _ , Dad. Don’t be so lame.”

“Lame!” Richie huffs, affronted.

She rolls her eyes at him, looking out onto the ice where Bev is teaching Eddie how to do a hockey stop. “Yeah,  _ lame _ . It’s like in third grade when Liam and Carlie  _ both  _ liked each other, but kept acting like they didn’t, even though we all told them both that the other one liked them, and it took them  _ all summer _ before they put in their bios that they were boyfriend-girlfriend,” she huffs, out of breath after the tangent. “And that’s stuff that  _ third graders  _ do, Daddy. You guys are adults, so it’s, like,  _ extra  _ lame.”

Richie swallows and looks her in the eye, his hands clasped tightly around the warm styrofoam cup resting between his knees. “And… If Eddie and I were boyfriends… Would you be okay with that?”

She glances down at her feet, skates swinging back and forth, mulling it over with a tiny furl to her mouth. “Well… that would be kind of awesome, I guess. I used to think Mr. K sucked, but he’s actually pretty cool. Cool like Bev, y’know? And nice. I saw him after the talent show— y’know, when you and mom were fighting? He made you guys stop, so that was like,  _ really  _ nice. Plus, if you guys are boyfriends, he can come over all the time again and keep tutoring me and you get to have fun being with him too,” she looks back at him with a small smile. “And maybe he’ll give me special treatment during class,” she pitches hopefully.

Richie snorts, always impressed by her priorities. “I wouldn’t hold your breath on that one, Cabbage Patch.”

She shrugs, holding her hand out for the hot cocoa again. “If you and Mr. K don’t want to be boyfriends because of me… Well, I think that’s really stupid. So, yeah, I like him,  _ okay _ ?” she admits begrudgingly, cheeks puffed out. “I’m  _ fine  _ with it if you guys are dating.”

Richie grins down at her and mimes tipping his hat, using his best Southern drawl when he says, “Well, I do thank ya kindly for yer blessin’ there, little miss.”

She hands the cup back and hops to her feet, air-curtseying to him and sounding a bit like Foghorn Leghorn on helium when she replies, “Well, heavens to Betsy, I do declare my dear Papa is sweet on Mistah K! Wait ‘til the other children hear about this!” she gasps, scandalized, before immediately spinning around on her blades and toddling back towards the ice.

He shakes his head as she goes, smiling down into the now empty cup in his lap, feeling a bit lighter than he had before.

The thing is, Peggy’s never met any of his prospective partners, mainly because they’ve never been more than that: prospects. He hasn’t seriously considered anyone significant enough for _ significant other  _ status since Cassie, and even then the two of them were far too volatile to ever consider staying together even for the sake of their daughter. 

Eddie isn’t the only one with  _ rules _ . Richie got more cautious with his partners over the years, having one mildly scarring encounter when Peggy was six and happened to wake up in the middle of the night, wandered down to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, and found a strange man in his underwear there instead. Richie had brought him home from a comedy club and made the mistake of not kicking him out right after. Since then, his hookups have been had strictly on the road, or at the other party’s place. Come to think of it, Eddie is the first person he’s slept with in his own home since that first learned lesson, and it wouldn’t have happened if Peggy had been home at all.

_ Looks like you’re good for something, Cassie _ . Richie thinks with a painful irony, guilt clinging to him the moment his subconscious suggests that Peggy is just some responsibility he can shirk off to someone else when he feels like getting his rocks off.

_ “You’re your own man, Rich,” _ Stan had told him one night, he and Peggy visiting the Uris’ for dinner. Peggy was sitting with Patty in the other room working on a puzzle in an attempt to battle the wavering attention-span of her eight year-old mind.  _ “You’re not  _ just  _ a dad. You get to have a life outside of her, you know. That doesn’t make you a bad parent. Besides, you know that if you ever need a babysitter and Bev isn’t available, you’ve got us. We love having her over.”  _ He looked over at the two of them fondly as he said it. He and Patty had tried for years but were unable to conceive, something Richie always had a quiet remorse about. If a screw-up like him could knock up a woman he could hardly stand, why the hell couldn’t a healthy, stable, loving couple like Stan and Pat have their own child?

God bless Bev, Ben, and the Uris’ for their help over the years. It really does take a village, especially with a kid that’s got all of his and Cassie’s crazy mixed into her and still manages to be pretty darn great despite all of that.

Seeing her now with Eddie, someone who manages to be so equally selfless and caring, patient and empathetic towards a kid who had given him grief for weeks on end… He folds seamlessly into the picture of his family, and Richie can’t imagine anyone else filling out that space beside him.

Almost as if his thoughts alone summon him, Eddie glides over to the wall in front of Richie, leaning over the side with a smile. “Care to explain why Peggy just asked if she should start calling me  _ Eddie  _ or  _ Father _ ?”

Richie feels his chapped lips split with the force of his smile as he gets to his feet, walking to the edge of the barrier to grab Eddie’s ruddy cheeks and pull him into a kiss. He’s taken off guard for a moment, lips stiff against Richie’s before he relaxes against him, sighing softly into the kiss.

“What was that for?” Eddie murmurs after a moment, eyelids fluttering open.

“Maybe I just wanted to kiss my boyfriend in front of all these people,” he replies, visibly lovesick.

Eddie pulls his lower lip between his teeth, looking contemplative for a moment before he allows the grin to spread. “Sap,” he laughs, pecking him on the cheek before pushing off the wall and gliding back into the throng of skaters.

Richie watches him disappear, black coat lost among the masses. He sits back on the bench and takes his little notebook out of his jacket pocket, scribbling down a revised set for tomorrow as quickly as his numb fingers will allow.

* * *

Rehearsal for Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve had begun at an ungodly hour considering Richie’s call time wasn’t until 10:00 p.m. His actual five-minute set is slated for 11:50, and he has no earthly idea what kind of deals Bev had to make to get him such a primetime slot right before the countdown. Apparently the producers for this year’s line-up were really pushing for a comedian-centric evening, many of Richie’s colleagues performing tonight alongside an evening that’s usually jam-packed with singers and dancers first and foremost.

Eddie and Peggy are still fast asleep as he and Bev leave for Times Square. She’s in a good enough mood to entertain his desire to walk the few blocks over rather than hail a cab, even if it does make them five minutes late. He gets a fair reaming from the PAs when he arrives, ushered over to where the other acts are gathered in the tents set up behind the outdoor stage like he’s a particularly obstinate sheep. Beverly goes to meet with the stylists over in wardrobe to do final approvals, and they both meet with the producer who had received an email just a few hours ago with an entirely new set. He has to prove himself at soundcheck, taking the editors’ revisions and performing the new material within his down-to-the-millisecond time slot, determined to nail each beat so that they don’t try and make him go back to his old set. It was a good set (if not a little watered down because of ABC’s strict guidelines on what can and can’t be said on live television), but the new stuff he wrote in a fervor last night is  _ important  _ to him.

Eddie and Peggy come to visit him on set since ABC runs such a tight ship that Richie isn’t allowed off the premises even before filming actually starts. They still seem to be getting along even without Richie or Bev there to moderate, which he hopes continues once they get back to LA and isn’t just some sort of holiday vacation truce.

“So do I get to hear your set?” Eddie asks by the craft services table.

“You will in a few hours along with everyone else,” Richie answers as naturally as he can manage, suddenly finding the salad in front of him extremely interesting.

For once, Eddie doesn’t push any further. 

Not usually one for naps but accepting today as a special occasion, Peggy concedes to going back to the hotel with Eddie to play catch up on some sleep before her dad performs at midnight. The broadcast starts soon after, and all that’s left for Richie to do is pace and wait offstage for his time.

“Richie, you’re going to sweat right through this jacket,” Bev chides at ten ‘til midnight, straightening his bowtie as the handlers fix his hair and dab at his forehead with rags.

“You’ve got Eddie and Peg right out front, right?” he asks, making a face as a PA pulls his glasses off to clean the lenses, another one swooping in to dab his nose with a powder puff.

“Yes, they’re right off stage in the VIP section, now quit worrying,” she smiles at him and tugs playfully at his lapels. The area back here is safe below the glowing red of the heat lamps, but Richie feels as though he could combat the cold all on his own. “You’re going to be great. I’ll see you after, alright?”

Richie just nods and watches her slip away, left with the fussy stylists who, if they happen to smell his body odor radiating off him, are kind enough not to say anything. “Two minutes, Mr. Tozier,” a passing producer says, steering him towards the steps leading up onto the stage. He can see the gathered crowd beyond the curtain, his heart pounding in time to the countdown in his ear piece.

He enters on his cue from the hosts, smiling and waving as he crosses to center stage, a single, retro-style microphone waiting for him on a stand. He removes it almost immediately, taking up his usual posture as he waits for the cheering to die down, one hand taking casual hold of the stand next to him.

“Thank you, New York, it’s good to be back! You know, I forgot how romantic the city gets this time of year. I mean, it’s kind of like that everywhere, right? Something about the holidays gets everyone in a lovey-dovey headspace. I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s going to open up my feed and see about two or three… hundred engagement announcements tomorrow morning, right?” 

_ Hold for cheering, start the slow walk to one side of the stage... _

“It’s really just trickle down from all the couples who thought a Christmas engagement was  _ ‘too cheesy’ _ . But nope! I am the proposal police, and I’m here to say that if you get engaged on New Years you are  _ just  _ as bad as the rest of ‘em, okay? Honestly, you should’ve just waited a couple of months for Valentine’s Day which is also the cut off point where most New Year’s Resolutions go to die. Plus, now that both your gym memberships are cancelled and your most recent craft hobby is starting an illustrious new career in collecting dust in the garage, you’ll both have plenty of time to plan the wedding. Now, I can’t stand up here and pretend to be a total Love Scrooge because I have found myself in a new relationship.” 

_ Pause for cheers and whistles, throw a wink towards where he knows Eddie is sitting in the audience. _

“Which, if any of you out there have no life and are active on Twitter— That Venn Diagram is just a circle, huh?— you may already know that. Now, my first thought was, ‘Score! I’ve got myself a New Year’s Kiss!’ Which was weird, because I usually wouldn’t care about something like that. But see? That’s what the holidays do to your brain. They make you think you’re the star of your own  _ Love, Actually _ , or that you’ll sing karaoke with a cute boy at midnight at a ski resort and spend the rest of your high school years harmonizing in the hallways.” 

_ Another round of cheers and whistles. Can always count on the Millenials for an easy, topical joke.  _

“Now, I decided to read up on why New Years’ kisses were a thing. It seems to date back centuries, all the way to parties in Ancient Rome… I don’t think I would’ve done so well back then. For one, if Hollywood has taught me anything, it’s that every Roman had an eight-pack and a sultry, gravely Gerard Butler voice, both of which I am clearly lacking. Seriously, if you shoved me into a time machine and sent me back to 800 BC, those guys would look at me the same way we look at a Muppet.” 

_ Gesture to yourself, but hey, you clean up nice, you’ll get some pity cheers _ . 

“Some old English folklore states a kiss at midnight of the New Year will purify your spirit from all evils— I mean, white people were really bored back then and had to make up  _ something  _ to spice up their lives, right? Some of the other myths say that whoever you kiss at midnight will set the tone for your  _ entire  _ year.” __

_ Pause to find Eddie’s face in the crowd. There he is, his dark gaze trained so intently on him, hanging on his every word with bated breath. _

“I’m usually not a very superstitious guy, but I think being in love with the person I plan on kissing tonight means I’m going to have a pretty incredible 2020.” 

_ He smiles at Eddie. Eddie smiles right back. The crowd awwws right on cue _ . 

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta go get my spirit purified by a cute Polish guy. I’ve been Richie Tozier, goodnight everyone, and Happy Holidays!”

The spotlight shuts off, and the audience applause carries him off the stage, Richie almost tripping down the stairs in his mad dash. He can hear Seacrest segueing them into the last commercial break before the countdown, and before he can make a break for the side stage to get to where Eddie and the others are waiting, he feels PAs hands on him, pulling him away so they can remove his backup lav mic. It’s a grueling process with all his layers, Richie tossing his jacket aside and practically ripping the buttons off of his shirt so they can remove the mic pack from where it’s tucked into his belt and pull the taped wire off his chest. The minutes until midnight are ticking down right before his eyes, and the moment he gets the all clear from the PAs, he takes off, hastily rebuttoning his shirt on the way.

He bursts free from the tented off backstage area, flying past security and hopping the temporary fence to edge his way along the sidewalk still crowded with civilians. Those who try to stop him for a quick photo or an autograph are ignored as he pushes his way through the crowd, turning the corner back towards the side stage only to careen directly into Eddie.

“Oof!” Eddie exhales beneath him, Richie’s hands stinging where he braced himself against the pavement on either side of his body.

“Eddie,” Richie breathes, quickly scrambling to his feet as to not crush the man of his dreams beneath him. He reaches out and clasps both of his hands, dragging the shorter man up to his feet. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Eddie laughs, his nervous smile teetering as his dark chocolate gaze flits with uncertainty between Richie’s eyes. “Richie that was… You were great up there. I, um— Did you mean it?”

Richie stares at him owlishly, his hands sliding up to grasp Eddie by the elbows like he’s afraid the man might take flight. “Which part? The part where I compared myself to a Muppet, or my innermost desire to be swept off my feet by Zac Efron?”

Eddie smacks his chest half-heartedly, the tip of his nose adorably reddening. “ _ Asshole _ .”

Richie grins, lifting his hands to cup Eddie’s face. His skin feels warm against his fingers, the frigid cold of the air around them dulled by his own adrenaline. Tiny flakes of snow begin to fall from the pitch black sky above, clinging to whichever surfaces they can that don’t melt them on contact. “You’re asking if I meant the part where I said I’m in love with you?”

Eddie bites his lip. Snow clings to his hair, the tops of his shoulders. “Well, it sounds a little stupid when you say it out loud like that.”

The countdown begins around them, the crowd echoing out the numbers projected on the TV screens as the bright, shining ball begins its descent. Richie is kissing Eddie again before they even get to “nine!”

_ Seven, six, five..! _

“Of course I meant it,” Richie murmurs between kisses, brushing the melting flakes off the tops of Eddie’s cheekbones. “I couldn’t think of any better way to tell you.”

_ Four, three, two..! _

Twinkling lights reflect back at him in Eddie’s eyes, tiny galaxies packed into a gaze that had once been so hard-edged, now softened with the confession of, “I love you too, Rich.”

The entire East Coast rejoices as they crest into a new year, the sounds of fireworks exploding overhead and drowning out the celebratory cheers around them. They’re just one of many couples sharing a kiss in the streets, but if you asked Richie, the two of them might as well be the only people in Manhattan.

“Ugh, you guys look like dogs fighting over peanut butter!” Comes his daughter’s disgusted complaint from behind them.

Richie laughs, breaking away from Eddie to kneel down and scoop Peggy into his arms, immediately peppering her face in kisses. “You want some of this, punk? Do ya? Mwah, mwah, mwah! Had enough yet?”

“Dad!” she squeals, furiously wiping at her face, only for Bev to swoop in and start smothering her other cheek in kisses.

She eventually surrenders and returns the favor, bestowing kisses to all their cheeks, including Eddie’s. Richie sets her back on her feet, still clutching her mittened hand as not to lose her in the crowd. Once Eddie is released from Bev’s clutches, sporting a festive, red lipstick smear across the temple, Richie pulls him closer to bring their lips together once more.

“Richie, my mouth is  _ numb _ ,” Eddie laughs against his lips, listlessly pushing against his shoulders.

“Oh, come on, I haven’t kissed you since  _ last year _ ,” Richie insists, grinning so hard his cheeks hurt.

“If _ better jokes _ are one of your new year's resolutions, you’re not off to a great start,” Eddie scoffs, hardly able to curb his own smile.

“Good thing I’ll have you to help give feedback, then,” Richie retorts, delivering one last kiss to the scar on Eddie’s cheek before relenting his hold.

The snow continues to fall. With Peggy riding on his back, stifling yawns against his ear as her cheek comes to rest on his shoulder, Beverly leading their trek through the hectic streets, and Eddie beside him, their hands intertwined, Richie has never felt more at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOF this was such an unexpected bear to write. I decided about halfway through I wanted to switch to Richie's POV instead of Eddie's, rewrote pretty much the entire thing, and then nearly doubled the length because I just couldn't help myself. This chapter went through a lot of changes, and real life unexpectedly took me off my usual 1-2 week update schedule. Thanks to everyone who's been so patiently waiting for this update, and I hope it's worth the wait!!
> 
> Be back soon with a (hopefully short) epilogue <3


	10. got it bad, got it bad, got it bad

Eddie wakes up alone.

He reaches blindly towards his phone on the nightstand to shut off the alarm, still adjusting to the wake-up call he’s gone without for the past three months. The warmth of the sheets and the steady hum of the AC is almost enough to lull him back into a half-sleep, until he remembers that Summer has officially come to an end— at least, if that window of Summer ever really drew to a complete close in Southern California.

It’s a groggy start to the day despite usually being the earliest riser in the house. There’s still a bit of an adjustment curve from rolling out of bed for his morning run when he knows there’s nowhere pressing he has to be afterwards, to now having to adhere to a more concrete schedule. First thing’s first, though, is to get to the bottom of the mystery of his empty bed on the morning of the first Monday of August.

He descends the stairs quietly, outfitted in his usual tank top, running shorts, and trainers, bluetooth earbuds hanging around his neck. The slatted, bamboo shades are drawn, letting the pink-orange filter of the LA sunrise drift dreamily into the first floor of the open-concept, Spanish-style house. The kitchen is empty, so Eddie starts the coffee machine before wandering down the hall towards the half-open door of the home office.

“Richie?” he inquires into yet another empty room, frowning when he sees Richie’s desk and armchair unoccupied. He opens the sliding door that leads directly onto the back patio, neither the lounge chairs nor pool floaties offering answers as to where his partner could be. It wouldn’t be the first time he found Richie out here, somehow managing to pass out on the back of the giant flamingo inflatable without accidentally drowning in his sleep.

He loops back through the first floor, almost missing the Richie-like shape curled up on the couch. A laptop sits open on his chest, still open, the cool-toned glow of the screen lighting up the side of his face tucked into the couch cushions. Eddie sighs and moves the computer aside, reminding himself to later adjust Richie’s power saving settings before he gives the man’s shoulder a less-than genial shake. He learned quickly it takes a lot more than sweet nothings in the ear and gentle caresses to rouse a Tozier from their slumber.

“Hnnng, five more minutes,” Richie mumbles, voice thick with sleep as he curls in on himself.

“C’mon, Rich, up and at ‘em,” Eddie sighs, grabbing one massive arm and giving a great tug until he’s got half of his body hanging off the couch, Richie barely catching himself from landing in a heap on the floor. “You know you don’t  _ have  _ to stay up all night writing while ruining your back, right?”

“The final season of a  _ wildly  _ successful TV show ain’t gonna write itself, Sweetcheeks,” Richie bemoans from the floor, mouth stretching in a wide yawn as he finally drags himself to his feet, wincing as he rubs his neck.

“My case in point,” Eddie sighs, giving Richie’s more-stubbled-than-usual cheek a kinder pat. “Coffee’s going. Think you can make breakfast happen without falling asleep at the stove?”

Richie just waves a sleepy, dismissive hand and trudges off to the kitchen, muttering something under his breath that sounds like “It happened  _ one  _ time.”

Eddie cuts down his usual run from a five-mile route to a nice three-and-a-half, checking his watch as he walks back down the hill towards the gate. As usual, he ignores the parked car of the paparazzi across the street, unsurprised that after years of living here, they still haven’t gotten their fill of snapping shots of his sweaty self doing something as mundane as fetching the mail at seven in the morning.

The house smells of coffee and sausage when he walks in the front door, Richie toiling away at the cast iron, one hand on a spatula with the other typing away at his laptop open on the counter. Eddie decides kitchen safety is a lecture they can both go without this morning, and drags himself up the stairs so he can rid himself of the humid stickiness clinging to his skin with a cold shower.

The door to Peggy’s bedroom is still shut when he comes out of his and Richie’s bedroom twenty minutes later, freshly showered and hair moussed into submission. He fiddles with the top-most button on his polo in one of the hallway mirrors, casting an averse glance to the closed door. He wonders how much eyelash batting it will take to convince Richie to be the one to brave that beast.

“Hey, you two! The Carpool de Tozier is departing soon so you better get your butts down here!” Richie calls from downstairs, making the decision for him.

Eddie sighs quietly and approaches the door as if it’s a rabid animal, raising a hand to rap his knuckles on the door. “Hey, Peggy, everything alright in there?”

_ “Ye-es!” _ comes the stretched out, annoyed reply through the door.

There’s no additional clarification, the door remaining definitively closed. “Well, it’s seven-thirty, and your dad made breakfast, so—”

_ “Oh-ka-ay!” _ she nearly shrieks, Eddie hearing some clattering on the other side of the wall. “I heard you! I’ll be down in a sec!”

Her murderous tone calls for immediate retreat, Eddie hurrying down the stairs to scarf down the plate of bacon, sausage, and eggs (sans Richie’s homemade hot sauce because he  _ likes  _ his taste buds on his tongue,  _ thank you very much _ ) that’s waiting for him. Peggy comes tromping down the stairs a few minutes later, both of them turning to see her sporting an obscene amount of eyeliner and a scowl that has been looking more and more permanent during these pubescent times.

_ “What?” _ she snaps irritably at their staring, the narrowing of her eyes made even more dramatic by the black pigment surrounding them.

“Nothing,” Eddie replies immediately, not prepared to start his morning on the wrong end of her hormonal wrath. “You look nice.”

Richie, with the power of unbridled, biological fatherhood on his side, knows no such fear. “Yeah, the  _ Sly Cooper _ cosplay is great, kiddo. Bold choice for your first day.”

“No one gets your  _ stupid  _ references, Dad,” Peggy barks, stalking towards the pantry to rip a pop tart from the box, shoving it in her backpack. “I’ll eat it in first period,” she glowers before hurrying out the front door, slamming it shut behind her.

“She’s becomes a teenager and is suddenly too good for my breakfast?” Richie asks in bewilderment.

“You could’ve been a little nicer,” Eddie murmurs around his mouthful of food, chasing it with a glass of orange juice. “I heard her up late last night with Bev on FaceTime picking out her outfit for today. She’s nervous.”

“Nervous for what? It’s  _ eighth grade _ , not  _ court _ ,” Richie scoffs as he grabs his keys, following Eddie out the door.

“She’s in a mood, alright? Just lay off her a bit,  _ please _ ,” Eddie sighs, shouldering his messenger bag.

“She’s been in _ a mood _ all Summer. I’m not gonna walk on eggshells just because she gets snippy over the dumbest things that she  _ used  _ to think were funny and will again once she grows out of this,” Richie dismisses.

“Yeah, well, you’re her  _ Dad _ , she can’t stay mad at you. Me, however…” Eddie casts a dubious glance towards the SUV, able to see the glow of her phone screen she’s been buried in at any given moment even through the tinted back windows. “You could just be a little more sensitive, okay? Otherwise she takes out all that teen angst on  _ me _ .”

Richie rolls his eyes but nods in surrender as he gets behind the wheel, plastering on a smile as he peers back at his daughter. “You look nice, kiddo. Bev helped pick your outfit right?”

Peggy doesn’t look up from her phone or give any other indication that Richie said anything at all. She looks about as amused as the time Eddie had joked that next year he could always apply for a job at whichever high school she attends because he knows she missed him while at Oceanside Middle.

Like he would ever even consider teaching high schoolers. He’s not a  _ total _ masochist.

“Cool, good talk,” Richie sighs, trading a glance with Eddie before cranking up the radio.

Peggy doesn’t speak during the entire commute until Richie comes to a stop outside the elementary school. “I’ll just get out here,” she says quickly.

“Why?” Richie asks, twisting around to face her. “Your drop off is three blocks away, I can take you.”

“I told my friends I’d walk with them,” she says evasively, hopping out of the car.

Eddie just shrugs when Richie turns his raised eyebrows at him, opening his own door to step out onto the curb.

“Well, have a great first day, you two!” Richie calls loudly towards both of them, hanging out of the open window. “Come on, now, give Daddy a kiss before you go.”

Eddie and Peggy share a skeptical glance, the younger of the two rolling her eyes and reshouldering her backpack. “I think he’s talking to  _ you _ ,” she scoffs before jogging off to join her gaggle of schoolmates waiting around the corner.

“First breakfast, now she’s too embarrassed to be even seen with me dropping her off?” Richie grumbles.

“To her credit, you  _ are  _ embarrassing,” Eddie grins, stepping close to the car again to kiss the frown right off Richie’s mouth.

Richie cups his jaw for a moment after they separate, a coffee-warm sigh caressing his lips. “Good luck, today. Try not to make any fifth graders cry.”

“Try to get a nap in before your show tonight,” Eddie returns dryly, still holding onto the car door. “And none of that drinking a Redbull and powering through shit, I’m serious! Last time you did that you forgot half of your set and ad-libbed a twenty minute rant about why  _ Shark Tale _ should be dubbed the  _ Citizen Kane _ of our generation.”

“I stand by what I said! Plus, if it makes it into the next special, it’ll give the bored cinephiles on Twitter something to talk about for a week,” Richie laughs, sliding a hand over Eddie’s knuckles. “Now go. Your new batch of brats ain’t gonna teach themselves today.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and leans into the car for one last kiss before stepping back onto the curb. “See you at three fifteen.  _ Sleep _ , Richie.”

“Aye, aye, Mr. K,” Richie salutes with a wink before driving off.

Despite having been here less than a week ago to set up his classroom for the coming year, Eddie still feels a bit unsteady as he steps foot back into the hallways he hasn’t seen for the past three months. He probably has a similar amount of nerves knotting up in his stomach as Peggy has, not that they’d ever be able to have a real conversation about it these days.

Eddie nearly drops his keys when his supposedly locked classroom door swings open right in front of him, an over-eager looking young man standing on the other side.

“Hi, Mr. Kaspbrak! I’m Adrian Mellon, I’m really excited to be your teacher’s aide this year,” he holds out a hand, Eddie pausing for a moment before shaking it. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Ah, right, Adrian,” Eddie recalls from the few emails he’s exchanged over the last month with the recent USC graduate. “You can just call me Eddie when the kids aren’t around.”

“Sounds good, Eddie,” Adrian grins before stepping aside. “Sorry if I scared you; I wanted to be sure to get here early.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that,” Eddie nods, doing his best to be  _ warm _ despite the amount of heel-digging he had done when the school had informed him he was one of a handful of faculty who would be taking one on this year. It’s not this poor kid’s fault that he has issues relinquishing control and letting others into his space. He does his best to not look annoyed when he passes through the empty rows of desks, casting a glance towards the additional desk tucked in the corner next to his own where it appears Adrian has already set up shop.

Some of his tension eases when he lowers himself down into his familiar chair and sees the smiling faces of himself, Richie, Peggy, Beverly, and Ben looking back at him from his desktop background, lounging together on white sand beaches and framed by crystal clear water behind them. It had been their big trip to Hawaii last Summer, back when Peggy could bear to spend time with either of them outside of whatever was absolutely necessary.

“Your family’s really cute,” Adrian comments, taking a seat on the corner of Eddie’s desk.

“They can be,” Eddie allows, tampering the urge to shoo Adrian off of his perch. “At least when my step-daughter isn’t actively hating my guts no matter what I do.”

Adrian doesn’t seem phased by his caustic tone, a small, amused smile playing on his lips. “How old?”

“Thirteen,” Eddie sighs, relaxing his shoulders.

“Ahh, I was  _ so  _ bitchy at that age,” he reminisces fondly, rolling his eyes. “I wouldn’t take it personally, I’m sure she hates  _ everyone’s  _ guts right now. Has she gotten to the point where she’s slamming her bedroom door in your face and claiming  _ ‘you’re not her real dad’ _ ?”

“Not yet, but she’s gotten pretty close to that,” Eddie sighs, wiping a hand down his face. “I don’t mean to vent. It’s just been a tough time with her dad being on tour the past few months… It was just the two of us through most of it so I kind of had to be the  _ not fun _ parent while she was in Summer school.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much, Mr. K,” Adrian pats him on the shoulder before walking around to sit at his own desk. “You just gotta remember that sometimes you’re allowed to be the  _ ‘fun’  _ parent too.”

Eddie ponders over the fact that he’s just been given parenting advice by someone who’s practically an infant himself as his new class trickles in before the 8:30 bell, a small horde of new faces looking eagerly towards him as the last of his nerves fade. He introduces himself and Adrian (who asks to be called  _ Adrian  _ rather than  _ Mr. Mellon _ by the kids), and plays icebreaker games until lunch, both for the children’s sake and his own as he starts to link the names to faces. During lunch he takes time to show Adrian around the teacher’s lounge, all of his middle-aged female coworkers eating the bright-eyed millennial right up. Even Eddie isn’t totally immune to his charms, especially when Adrian takes the time to confide in him that he had specifically requested to aide in his class because he himself is openly gay and was impressed with Eddie’s reputation in the school district.

With first day jitters fading, Eddie’s day progresses easily until he receives a harbinger of impending doom: a text from Richie to their family groupchat during recess.

_ stuck in OC meetings all afternoon. issues w/ the rewrite. gonna have B drop off a car so eds can drive u home peg. _

_ c u at the venue tn _ 🍝

_ k _ , Peggy replies.

_ You’re not on your phone during class, are you? _ Eddie sends.

_ u guys texted me first!! _

Eddie sighs and keeps his phone on Do Not Disturb for the rest of the day, dreading the sound of the final bell. He easily spots Richie’s Mustang waiting for him in the parking lot when three o’clock rolls around, wishing the car of choice would’ve been something that might get less of an eye roll from Peggy when he pulls up to the Middle School pick-up line.

“Cool parent, cool parent,” Eddie mutters to himself, mulling over his options for a moment before he bites the bullet and sends Peggy a text.

_ Hey, if you want I can pick you up around the block? _

The reply comes almost instantly.

_ yeah _

Eddie rolls slowly through the school zone, Oceanside Elementary and Middle being barely a stone’s throw apart. He can see Peggy sitting on the curb by the baseball field as he comes around the corner, honking his horn once to get her attention.

Her expression is pinched as she hops into the passenger seat, crossing her arms after she buckles her seatbelt. “...Thanks.”

Eddie tries not to openly gape at her rare display of courtesy, simply nodding his head. “No problem… Although if your dad is the one to pick you up in the future, no guarantees he’ll be quite as… discreet.”

Peggy scoffs, which is about the closest thing Eddie’s gotten to a laugh in quite some time.

Silence settles in the car for a moment, but for once it feels more comfortable than awkward. “I’m sure you don’t want me to ask you how your first day went?” Eddie hedges carefully, eyes on the road.

He catches a shrug out of his periphery. “It was fine… My teachers are pretty cool this year.”

“Cool,” Eddie echoes.  _ Cool parent, cool parent _ . “Sounds like it’s just us for dinner. We could get take-out from your favorite Thai place? Hey, if you wanted, I might be able to sneak you into the club tonight for your dad’s show. Know anyone who could get us a fake ID last minute?”

_ Not  _ that  _ cool, Eddie _ , he groans internally.

Peggy rolls her eyes at Eddie’s misguided attempts, propping up her sneakers on the dashboard. “And listen to him talk about your sex life for an hour? Yeah, I’ll pass.”

“He talks about you sometimes too,” Eddie points out, hoping his blush isn’t visible.

“Yeah, I am soooo glad every embarrassing, stupid thing from my childhood is forever immortalized on Netflix for everyone in my grade to watch and quote at me whenever they damn please. It’s  _ awesome _ , Eds,” she drawls, pulling out her phone.

Admittedly, he doesn’t have a great comeback for that.

“Alright, you don’t have to come to the show tonight,” he concedes. “Why don’t you invite some friends over instead? Have a… hangout, or whatever, before the school year gets too crazy for you.”

She looks away from her phone long enough to cast a suspicious glance his way, her thumbs stilling over the screen. “...Really? I can have people over while you guys are gone?”

“We have the Nest cams set up, so don’t try anything  _ too  _ crazy,” Eddie warns, trying to keep his tone light. “But, sure, why not? You’re a teenager, it’s not like we need someone to babysit you. Just a few friends, though, okay? And make sure it’s okay with their parents too.”

“Okay!” she agrees immediately, scrolling over to whichever groupchat has her core group of friends. 

Not long after dinner, Eddie finds himself host to Peggy and four of her closest friends, a well-meaning if not slightly rambunctious group. He and Richie do their best not to pry into her social life, but they get the need-to-know insider knowledge from Bev, the only person in the family that Peggy lets follow any of her social media accounts. Through the highs and lows of middle school melodrama, it seems she’s settled into a relatively safe friendship pod consisting of like-minded kids in her grade who all seem to have good heads on their shoulders.

“Alright, guys, Richie and I will be home in a few hours, but if you need  _ anything _ , call me, okay?” Eddie addresses the group of teens all huddled around the living room TV, arguing over what bad movie they want to watch tonight. “Peggy, the Andersons next door are home tonight, so if there’s any immediate emergencies, their number is on the fridge. Got it?”

“Yeah, got it— Oh my god, Danny, no one wants to watch  _ Twilight— _ ”

Eddie sighs.  _ Just don’t be like your mother _ , reminds the small voice in the back of his mind that always seems to come out when he has an inkling to be a little  _ too much _ of a helicopter parent. “Be good you guys; Call me if you need anything!” he re-emphasizes on his way out the door.

“Bye, Mr. K!” Comes the chorus from behind him, a side-effect Eddie’s had to deal with when most of her friends are Oceanside Elementary alumni.

He has to consciously relax his white-knuckled grip around the steering wheel the entire way to the comedy club, resisting the urge to pull an illegal U-turn on Mulholland and apologize to Richie about missing his show in the morning.

Another modicum of anxiety is eased out of him by both Bill’s sage words of wisdom and the Long Island iced tea that Stan buys him as soon as he joins them at the Laugh Factory.

“Come on, Eddie, you know we got up to  _ way  _ worse when we were their age,” Bill laughs, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Remember all the times you snuck out of the house to troll around the Barrens with Mike and I? And that was usually just because we were out of comics to read or couldn’t afford to go to the movies that day. We had nothing better to do; The exact opposite of the problem kids have these days.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Eddie sighs, peeking down at his Nest app just to confirm the teens are exactly as he left them: sprawled across the couches with a mess of snacks scattered across the coffee table, all their eyes trained on the blown out TV screen in front of them.

“Peggy is a responsible kid. You guys have left her at home by herself before,” Patty reminds empathetically, reaching over to lock his phone and flip it face down on the table. “They’ll be  _ fine _ , Eddie.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” Eddie sighs. “Sometimes I wish Richie’s hands-off parenting rubbed off on me a little more.”

“Maybe if you two weren’t so busy rubbing off on each other in  _ other ways _ ,” Bev cuts in, waggling her eyebrows. “Seriously, you two have kept up the honeymoon phase even longer than me and Ben did— And that’s saying something.”

“ _ Bev _ ,” Ben scoffs, turning pink.

“Alright, let’s just leave the jokes to my husband, shall we?” Eddie mutters into his hand, taking a much needed sip from his drink.

And so they do. Richie takes to the stage after a few warm-up comedians, welcomed home by a packed house and his closest loved ones watching from the balcony above. Eddie smiles, because he can’t help it whenever he sees Richie under that spotlight, aiming a wink up at him before taking the mic off the stand.

“Thank you, thank you, God, you guys are a beautiful crowd. I’ve been on tour for so long I forgot how fucking  _ hot  _ everyone is in LA. Seriously, I got used to being like a solid 8.5 in Ohio, but it’s good to be home and humbled back to my status as a 4. Speaking of below average, the set tonight is gonna be all over the place, so if you want something nice, concise, and edited, you’ll have to check out my next Netflix special coming out this fall. Tonight, you guys are getting the full, raw, Trashmouth experience. I’ve got to workshop some stuff as my manager said I can’t just make my next special an hour of me rambling about how much I love my husband. And, Bev, I love you, but that’s a big ask, okay? Anyone who’s met Eddie,  _ my husband _ , would know. He’s so goddamn loveable in the same way one loves a feral Pomeranian, y’know? Not to mention, he’s helped me fulfill a lifelong fantasy of shacking up with a teacher, even if the circumstances are a little more…  _ different  _ than how I had imagined. Now, there’s a lot of stories I’d love to tell about my dear, sweet, Eddie Spaghetti tonight to give you a real picture of what kind of guy he is… The first things that come to mind are how he cried at the Oscars not because I fucking  _ won  _ Best Supporting Actor, but because Beyonc é walked by us backstage, or maybe the time he was so nervous signing the custody papers for my daughter that he misspelled his name and the clerk had to reprint the forms… There’s also the fact that when I proposed, his first reaction was to get  _ pissed  _ at me because he had been planning on popping the question first and I beat him to it. But I think to get the  _ full  _ picture, we need to go all the way back to our first date which ended with him throwing up on my shoes…”

“That didn’t happen!” Eddie yells from the balcony above, almost every head in the place turning to look at him.

Richie stares up at him for a moment, chewing on the edge of a smirk. “Oh, guys, gals, and nonbinary pals, it appears that we have a heckler in the audience tonight. Babe, would you like to come down here and tell your side of the story? At least, whatever it is you remember past all those rum and cokes you were slamming back.”

The audience is a mix of laughter and _ oooohed  _ interest, Eddie attracting an amount of attention he wouldn’t have been comfortable with had he not been dating Richie for so long. As much as he enjoys being flown out to major cities all over America to watch Richie perform to a sold out theater, he’s missed these smaller, more intimate shows, where Richie will let him get away with this kind of behavior.

Eddie raises a middle finger up from their private little booth, Richie feigning alarm. “Whoa there, my love, save that for  _ after  _ the show tonight,” he winks. 

Eddie shrinks away from Bev booing loudly right by his ear, his attention pulled away from Richie just long enough to hear his phone buzz twice against the table. His heart skips a beat when he sees two texts from Peggy, nerves quelled once he actually reads them.

_ thx for letting me have friends over _

_ hope dad’s funny tnite _

_ No problem, Peg. You guys have fun. _

_ He’s about as funny as he usually is. _

He isn’t expecting a reply right away, any conversation beyond the bare necessity of exchanged information not really common with her as of late.

_ so not at all?? _

Eddie smiles down at his phone, eyes flickering up for just a moment to peer over the railing. Richie’s glowing beneath the stage lights, smile lines creased behind the dark frame of his glasses, the supposed  _ trash  _ mouth curved into a wide grin as he rapidly fires off a string of perfectly timed jokes. He glances out over the audience, the crowded sea of faces enthralled with each Voice, each punch line, each raunchy anecdote. His husband thrives off of it, his own infectious laugh filling the room and drawing everyone nearer, as if every word is a private joke just between them.

_ Not at all. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH IT'S FINISHED. Jeez, my biggest most loving thank yous to all of y'all who have stuck with the slightly inconsistent updates here. I've been having such a blast writing this fic, and I can't wait to write more Reddie in the future!! I have both a couple more cute AU ideas and maybe some canon-compliant fix-its in mind 👀👀
> 
> another sidenote, I'm glad that you guys seemed to like Peggy from the comments!! I'm not a huge fan of OCs in fic in general, and I know kid OCs have an especially bad reputation out there. I work with kids a lot irl, so I'm always happy to contribute some realistic portrayals to fic ❤️
> 
> I loved writing this story, I love these dumb, middle-aged losers, and I can't wait to revisit them for future fic. Thank you for reading!!


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